


Beyond Love

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breastfeeding, Intersex, Intersex Character(s), Intersex Obi-Wan Kenobi, M/M, Mandalorian Adoption (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian Obi-Wan Kenobi, Original Character(s), Royalty, Stewjoni Culture (Star Wars), The Ari-Ben Chronicles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: The moment he overheard his parents discussing how best to be rid of his scandalous illegitimate child, Ari-Ben Kenobi knew what he would do. In the dead of night, with a light suitcase and Obi-Wan asleep in a sling, Ari-Ben hired the next ship leaving Stewjon, no matter where it went. For the next two years, Ari-Ben dodged his parents' henchmen looking to drag him home, slavers looking to sell him and his baby boy and the general mire the galaxy was swamped in.That is, of course, until Jaster Mereel intervened in an otherwise unfortunate incident on Dantooine.
Relationships: Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jaster Mereel/Original Character(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Jaster Mereel
Comments: 214
Kudos: 641





	1. My Child

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Eff_Dragonkiller, who's conversations with me have lead to this very lovely idea!

Stewjon was a planet rich in beauty, resources, colour and tapestry. The planet was alive with the vibrant, metallic colours that shone in the sun, jewels in such abundance that they were embedded in the trees. The warm, rich atmosphere led to a controlled climate, always warm without being hot, and inspired a massive influx of vegetation. The clays along the river beds came in every colour, and there was no dye like Stewjoni dye for the silks, satins and linens that marked Stewjoni fashion. Thicker products like wool and cotton were used for rugs and tapestries which decorated every home, intricately woven stories or scenes on every surface. Where fabrics would not do, mosaics, stained glass and iridescent tiles were inlaid with the most exquisite craftsmanship. Stewjon was a planet of artisans, and its people were equally as beautiful. 

The product of inter-species breeding between ancient humans and a native Stewjoni race now extinct led to the modern Stewjoni native. Their skin tones ranged, but what always set them apart was the beautiful metallic sheen to their hair, always grown out long and elaborately styled with pins, vines, flowers and ribbon. The most common varieties were gold, copper, bronze, brass, chrome, and black iron. Another hallmark of the Stewjoni people was their androgyny. Geneticists theorized that the original Stewjoni race had switched sexes as necessary, but the breeding with humans had led to their descendants bearing both sets of human genitalia, both entirely functional. Some members of the species could lean more traditionally masculine or feminine, assuming whatever Basic pronouns they chose. After all, Stewjini as a language possessed no gendering of any kind. 

Stewjoni people rarely left the planet, but their reputation as sensitive and enthusiastic lovers proceeded them. Visitors to the planet had been witness to the amorous nature of its people, as free in their affections as they were their sexuality. While outright sex in the street wasn't permitted, rumour had it that the prevalence of dresses and robes in the Stewjoni wardrobe had less to do with cultural preference and more to do with _easy access_. Needless to say, slavers had become a plague unto themselves for any Stewjoni leaving the safety of Stewjon itself - many a missing person was found half the galaxy away, drugged senseless and violated. 

Ari-Ben had all of this in mind as he braided his hair, watching his baby in his cradle through the mirror. He knew the dangers of the outside world, knew what life would await him once he was off-planet. But he also knew what would happen if he stayed, the consequences of taking his eyes off his baby for one second. And that, more than anything, he could not abide. 

On his bed sat his suitcase, packed efficiently with nice, but practical clothes. His sling of javelins lay next to it alongside the harness for his spear, which was leaning against the bed itself. The spear was quite lovely, perhaps the most favoured of all his possessions. It was durasteel, crafted finely with vines all along the shaft and a finely honed edge on either end. 

He tied off his braid, tossing it over his shoulder and assessing himself one last time in the mirror. Common plait with a peony pink ribbon threaded through it, matching his pink dress, cinched at the waist with a thick blue ribbon and underlaid by a common satin shift in beige. His boots were beige as well, sturdy and decent. His face was free of makeup and clay paints, and he wore none of the jewelry next to him in its box. Jewelry he wouldn't deign to take with him. With a deep breath, he stood, setting his shoulders and turning away. 

From the back of the chair he had been sitting on, he picked up the sling he'd made from one of his silk robes. He had several of these and many woolen blankets tucked away in his suitcase to wrap his baby up in should the need arise. He armed himself first, then situated the sling over the opposite hip his javelins would hang from. With infinite care, he lifted his infant son from his cradle, bundled snugly in his linens and flannelette, to gingerly place him in the sling. The baby did not stir, and he was grateful. 

He grabbed the suitcase with his free hand, and saw himself out. 

No one, not even his own parents, would threaten Obi-Wan.

* * *

The galaxy at large proved to be fairly manageable. The upside of being from a well-known, but insular people is that no one actually _knew_ anything about Stewjon or its politics, and therefore knew nothing about him. Any henchmen his parents sent after him would have to be careful themselves if they were Stewjoni, or very carefully vetted if they weren't. His parents would be looking for their heir back, not for him to be returned carrying _another_ undesired child. 

He wasn't much concerned about that, however. He'd been abroad for a year now, and many of the seedier places he'd been didn't keep names of their customers. The most he would receive was a gruff, but well-meaning warning from bartenders about where slavers were common. He always tipped them generously when they did, since he was certain it had kept him and his son out of trouble more often than not. 

Of course, it's not always possible to completely avoid these encounters. 

"Pretty things like you don't belong 'n this end of the galaxy." The man leered, eyeing the peach robe he was wearing as though he could see through it. "Might find yourself in trouble without some help."

"Maybe." He replied flippantly. 

"I could certainly assist you." The man insisted. "For a price."

"Hmm, I'm sure you would." He twirled the end of his braid. "Unfortunately, I pick up my tab in credits."

"If you don't want my help," The man started to get angry, "then I can help myself, can't I?"

"Surely _someone_ must be willing?" He surveyed the bar as though he hadn't been here for an hour already. "The droid doesn't look like it would charge much."

The man finally lost his patience, flipping the table the Stewjoni had claimed for himself. 

"I suppose there's no way we can be friends?"

Before he could reach for the javelins at his side, several armoured bodies encircled him, one of them staring the pervert down over the barrel of his blaster. 

"They said no." His rescuer growled. 

"None of your fucking business, Mando." The pervert snapped back. 

The Mandalorian didn't argue, merely shot the man right in the head. The bar had fallen silent, watching the spectacle, but quietly returned to their drinks when the Mandalorian holstered his weapon. He turned to the Stewjoni, then, maintaining a respectable distance. 

"Are you okay?"

"Certainly. I appreciate your intervention, despite it not being necessary."

That earned a chuckle. The other Mandalorians - for that's who had surrounded him - returned to their booth. The one who had shot the pervert righted the table and sat down across from him. "Oh, I'm aware. Those javelins definitely aren't decorative, but I'm assuming the baby snoozing against your back isn't either."

He maintained his composure, despite his instincts gearing him up to fight. Mandalorians had a reputation for their hatred of slavers, but that didn't mean that these people were actual Mandalorian's under those shiny shells. Anyone can wear armour, after all. 

The Mando made no move to get closer. "What brought you to a dive like this?"

"Information." He answered honestly. "Spend enough money and time, and the bartender will usually tell me where not to go."

"New to the planet, then?"

"Yes, but not new to travelling."

"Evidently." The Mando chuckled again. "If that's all you're here for, I can give that to you."

"At what cost?"

"No cost."

"And why not?"

The Mando softened. "Because of your child."

"And how does that factor into your thought process, good sir?"

He recoiled. "Children are the heart and soul of the galaxy. No matter what, they deserve protection and peace. And one so young . . . It is the Way."

He contemplated the Mando in front of him, assessing the minute movements of his body. He was calm and even-tempered, nothing about his body gave any indication he was lying. Of course, seeing his face would have been more helpful, but beggars can't be choosers. "I see."

"There's a hostel two blocks down and a block right called Amaria. There's no 'nice part' of this town, but Amaria is generally left alone."

"Thank you. I appreciate the advice."

The Mando stood. "Have a good evening."

"Thank you."

The Mando returned to his own table, paying him no more attention. 

"The Mando's right." The bartender set his ordered soup in front of him. She was a lovely Torgruta woman with whited-out colouring. "Amaria is the best place to stay. I'd suggest you get there by nightfall. That man they shot had friends, and those friends will be too scared to go after the Mandos for it."

He sighed. "That sounds about right. I appreciate the advice, and the warning."

She nodded, walking back to the bar. 

He was quick to eat his soup. Against his back, he could feel precious little Obi-Wan begin to stir. He would be getting hungry, and this was no place to feed him. 

He paid his tab and found his way to Amaria, where he was given an access card to a room on the ground floor for three days. He hurried to it before Obi-Wan could begin to cry, dropping his luggage and sitting down on the bed, pushing his dress open and allowing his baby to latch. Obi-Wan drank hungrily, staring up at his birther with wide blue eyes. 

Obi-Wan was such an easy baby. He hardly ever cried, and he very much enjoyed sleeping. When he was awake, he got endless hours of entertainment playing with his birther's hair, and giggled at everything. Over all, he bore little resemblance to his sire - he looked nearly identical to Ari-Ben, and for that, he was grateful. No need to be reminded of an ill-advised dalliance. 

Obi-Wan fell asleep with a nipple still in his mouth, and Ari-Ben could not have been more endeared. He wrapped his baby up in his swaddling blankets, laying him down on the bed and readjusting his clothes. They would have to bathe yet, but he had a feeling there would be other business he'd have to deal with before the night was through. So, instead of risking broken doors and a kidnapped baby, he went and stood outside, peering down the murky tunnel streets. A few moments later, a crew of six or seven men approached him from the front of Amaria, all of them carrying blunt, heavy weapons. 

"You're the bitch that killed our friend."

"I did not, in fact." He replied easily. His spear was next to him, leaning inconspicuously against the wall. "A Mando shot him."

"The Mando did it for you." The leader sneered. "But you were the one he wanted."

"Is it policy here to go ass-up for the first person who asks?" He hummed thoughtfully. "In that case, asses up, boys."

They scowled and hissed at the insinuation - honestly, such heathens - and the leader got enraged. "The only one that's gonna be ass-up tonight is you, Stewjoni."

"Oh, my dear, so bold." He picked up the spear, walking out into the middle of the road. It gleamed as it spun in his hand. "But I shan't be so accommodating. As I told your friend, I don't pick up my tabs with my body."

The rushed him, awash in fury, and a collection of alarmed voices rang out behind them. 

Ari-Ben didn't care who they were. His first swing cut the throat of the leader cleanly, nearly severing his head. Using the momentum, he forced the end of the spear into a stomach, cutting through fat and muscle right into the organs. He yanked the spear forward, catching a blow on the shaft before using its length to slip the enemy weapon to his left, leaving an opening for him to grab a javelin and slam it through the man's skull. 

The latter three were more hesitant to attack, so he went on the offensive. A twirl of his spear caught one of the coming blows, knocking the man off-kilter and opening him up for an efficient slice across the throat. He spun it over his head, taking out another man's eyes. The last man had backed out of range, fumbling for a blaster. He flicked another javelin out of the quiver at his hip, then threw it across the alley, watching it pierce through the last man's chest with grim satisfaction. 

"Manda be praised."

He turned to face possible new combatants, only to find the Mandos from earlier standing there, aghast. 

"Good evening, gentlemen." He greeted casually, walking over to the two corpses his javelins were embedded in and yanking them out. He wiped them clean on their clothes, as well as his spear, then returned them to their places on his person. 

"And you thought me might need help, Jaster." One of the larger Mandos nudged the one who had shot the man in the bar. 

"I'm glad I was mistaken." The one, Jaster, murmured in awe. 

Ari-Ben had nothing to say to that, so he turned and went to return to his room. 

"Is the baby okay?"

"I left him in the room." He replied. "They didn't get the chance to break in."

"Is he as delightful as you are?" One of the other Mandos piped up. 

"He's more congenial to praise than I am, certainly."

"I love babies, but my husband and I are both non-carrying males. Any kids we come across for adoption tend to be older." 

"Menander." Jaster warned. 

Ari-Ben assessed them. They had likely come looking for him when word that the gang was looking for him spread from the bar. "I think it's only fair I get your names, if I'm to let you into my residence, no matter how temporary. 

"I'm Jaster Mereel, and these are my personal commandos - Menander Lucian, Arian Aetius, Mark Ammianus, and Raylor Nikias."

"I am Ari-Ben." He inclined his head to them. "My son is Obi-Wan, and you may follow me in if you wish. He's just been fed, so he will likely be sleepy."

Menander had to visibly control his enthusiasm. It made his heart warm a little - whatever his suspicions about an overly friendly stranger, these men at least seemed genuinely invested in the safety of his son. 

He keyed open the door to his lodgings, quietly relieved to find Obi-Wan just as oblivious to the world as he'd been left, fast sleep and puffing air through his open mouth. 

"Manda preserve me." Menander breathed, approaching the bed slowly and just gazing down at the snoozing babe. Slowly, as though much of anything could rouse Obi-Wan from his slumber, he reached up and removed his helmet, bending over the bed. His eyes were wide, his mouth parted, awe written into every breath. "He's the most precious thing in the galaxy."

"I think so too." He replied fondly. "That baby is my world."

Menander turned to Mark. "I need one."

"No, you don't." Mark sighed. "Who's even going to take care of a being that small? Your _buir_ , too old to fight now, while you and Cassius get called away?"

Menander pouted. "No. One of us would stay with it, obviously. Can't leave my _buir_ to do it all. Jaster would let me."

Mark turned to Jaster. "Don't encourage him. One day he'll just spring an infant on Cassius."

"I know that." Jaster laughed. "But he's right - I would encourage him to leave to raise his child. Family doesn't wait."

"See!" Menander crowed. He turned back to Ari-Ben, then. "How old is this little one?"

"He's just over a year." He sat down next to his baby, reaching into the blankets to stroke his beautiful copper hair. 

"What happened to his mother?" Arian asked. 

Ari-Ben frowned. "The one who gave birth to him, you mean?"

"I suppose so."

"I did."

Jaster stiffened, but Raylor tilted his head. "How?"

"He's Stewjoni." Jaster breathed. 

He tilted his chin up, glaring them down. "What of it?"

"Were you taken?" Arian asked gently. "From Stewjon?"

"We'll take you home." Mark seemed to decide. 

"I left Stewjon, on purpose." He corrected. "Obi-Wan is an illegitimate child, and my parents were looking to cover up my indiscretions before it became a scandal. They planned to do so my getting rid of my baby behind my back."

Menander hit his knees, abhorrence and shock fighting for room in his expression. " _No._ "

"I agree." He smoothed the front of his dress, stiff-backed and steel-spined. "I wasn't going to let anyone, even my own parents, dictate what would happen to _my_ baby. Shortly after I found out about their plan, I packed up my things, took my baby and left the planet. I'll never return by choice, and they can die stewing in their own regret insofar as I'm concerned."

Jaster came and sat down next to him, close, but not touching. "I've known whole squads of _ori'ramikad_ that have less _ramikadyc_ in them than you do."

"I assume that's meant to be a compliment." He raised an eyebrow, still as prim as ever. 

"Oh yes." Jaster leaned around Ari-Ben to gaze at the nonplussed face of the sleeping baby. "What is your preferred method of address?"

" _Him_ is fine." He shrugged. "I've no real preference, but I seem to get assumed male more often than not."

" _Him_ it is. Are you planning on staying on this planet?"

"I had been, at least for a little while." He shrugged. "I'm likely going to have to leave sooner with this incident, however."

"Have you ever considered moving closer to the Core?"

"Not particularly. There's less of a chance being found out here, despite the dangers. Well, perhaps even because of them. Any Stewjoni, warrior or not, faces the same threats of slavery and rape."

"If you're looking for a ticket off-world, I would like to offer."

"While I appreciate the sentiment, you know nothing about me, nor I about you."

"You know more about us than any ship you'd charter." Menander spoke up. 

"Certainly, but on a chartered ship, there are dozens of misfits, not just two Stewjoni at the mercy of strangers." He countered. 

"What about at the mercy of a Mand'alor?"

Ari-Ben reeled back. "Certainly, you couldn't be-"

"He is." Mark confirmed. 

He grabbed Obi-Wan and stood, pushing through the armoured bodies. "What proof do you have? I _will not_ allow you to stay a moment longer without some manner of proof that you have no ill intentions towards my son."

"What would be sufficient?" Jaster asked gently, remaining seated. Mark, Raylor and Arian moved to the fringes of the room, though were careful not to block the door. Menander remained on his knees, still looking stricken. "Mand'alor is an internal title, one that's earned, not hereditary."

"I'm not certain what you could do." He admitted. "I can't trust my own family, who else can I turn to?"

Menander winced, like the betrayal had happened to him. 

"There's a saying we have, _Aliit ori'shya tal'din._ " Jaster said. "It means _Family is more than blood_ _._ Perhaps what you need to do is find your real family, the one you make."

Ari-Ben stopped pacing, gazing down at little Obi-Wan. The babe had roused at his carrier's distress, wiggling a hand out of the blankets to reach up to his face, gently petting his parent's cheek. 

"Looks to me like you're already part-way there." Jaster spoke again, still soft and understanding. "The only way forward is with new people. Even just making friends."

He leaned down to kiss his baby's head. Obi-Wan gurgled, his free hand still stroking Ari-Ben's skin. "Are you suggesting I make friends with you?"

"It's an option." Jaster shrugged. "But we won't make you do what you don't want to." 

He assessed the men standing around him again. "A test, then."

"Okay." 

He walked over to Mark, holding out Obi-Wan. The hulking man took the infant carefully, clearly unfamiliar with a body so small, but managed to situate him comfortably enough. Obi-Wan gazed into his visor, reaching up to slap a hand against it. Then he giggled, his tiny face all scrunched up in mirth. 

"Pass him to Raylor." Ari-Ben instructed. 

Raylor seemed to have some knowledge of infants, because he was much faster in situating Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan patted his helmet too with a nod, looking back over his shoulder at his mother.

"Arian next, please."

Arian also handled the baby well, getting giggles. 

"Menander."

Menander took the baby with the greatest enthusiasm, and Obi-Wan responded in kind, breaking out into peels of high, loud laughter. It made Menander laugh too, kissing the boy on the crown of his head. 

"Jaster."

As soon as Obi-Wan was in Jaster's arms, he grabbed a hold of the helmet and hauled himself up with all his little baby strength, pressing a sloppy and uncoordinated kiss onto the T of the visor. 

Ari-Ben sighed, sounding a lot more tired than he had all night. "So be it, then."

"So be it?" Menander asked, cocking his head. 

"We'll come with you."

"I'm not sure how many more thugs will come to avenge Bren." Jaster commented distractedly, watching Obi-Wan avidly. "You can join us, if you'd like. They're unlikely to attempt to bother you again that way."

He sighed again. "It's the most reasonable course of action. Going with you into space is a much more damning proposition anyway."

"We're not going to hurt you." Mark huffed. 

He narrowed his eyes at the Mandalorian, grimly satisfied to see him shrink back some. "Tell me, with all honesty: if you were in my position - a single parent trying to protect their baby while in a hostile galaxy where our very persons are considered extremely profitable merchandise - would _you_ trust anyone? Even a Mand'alor himself?"

Mark exhaled roughly. "No, no I wouldn't. In fact, I'd probably be more hostile."

"I had never been off-world before I left," He admitted, "but I was well educated on the risk I took. Our survival depends on my discretion. I would likely be less cautious if it were only me to suffer the consequences of my actions. I would probably never recover, but I could endure the violation I would face as property. But my child? To know that I took someone helpless, completely dependent on me and my choices and _my foolishness_ saw him delivered to slavery? To know that while I would likely never see him again, I would know that he would suffer my same violation though I would never know how _young_ it really started. Every fate we could face is infinitely worse than death, and that rides on me."

Mark had completely cringed away from him and Menander looked like he wanted to vomit. Arian's helmet was tilted down, riveted to the floor. Raylor approached him, but stopped a hand's breadth away. 

"Can I touch you?" He asked. 

"I suppose."

Raylor's hand landed on his shoulder, a gentle but firm weight. "I won't say I understand, because I don't. We're warriors, and the galaxy looks at us that way. But you're a warrior yourself - those bodies outside more than prove it. You understand what inviting a stranger to travel with us, to be with us when we're outside of our beskar is vulnerable as well. I can't ask for your trust, but I will ask for a chance to prove ourselves to you. Everybody is belly-up here, even if its in different ways."

Ari-Ben reached back and pulled his braid over his shoulder, fingers playing with the copper ends and equally orange ribbon. 

Raylor squeezed his shoulder briefly before letting his hand slide away. "I also won't believe you if you say you want this paranoid life to be one your son inherits. As much as Mandalorians tend to be solitary creatures, we're never _alone_. We have a home and a people we can always turn to - I'd bet every credit I have that right now, you don't have either."

He tightened the ribbon's knot at the bottom of the braid. The reminder was an unpleasant one. 

"Family comes before everything." Jaster spoke at last, standing. He walked over, gently depositing Obi-Wan back in his carrier's arms. "We're staying in Kethlen Inn, behind the Skara Bar. Rooms 1A and B. We depart tomorrow around midday. If you want to join us, we'll be waiting. If not, I'll wish you luck now and hope that should we meet again, it will be pleasant."

He stroked through Obi-Wan's hair, the infant blinking up obliviously at his carrier. The image blurred through tears, but he suppressed them. "That won't be necessary."

Jaster waited quietly, neither pushing or pulling. 

He let out a shaky breath. "I'll follow you now. So long as you don't mind that when we arrive, I need to bathe myself and my son."

"Of course." Jaster nodded. "Arian, grab his suitcase."

"Do you have any other belongings?" Raylor asked softly. 

"No. I have nothing else."

Arian's surprised grunt broke the tension. "Kriff, this is heavy."

He managed a laugh. "Heavy or not, one bag is more efficient for someone who may need to move quickly."

Jaster stroked over the ridge of Obi-Wan's eyebrow. "And for someone with only one hand free, I suspect."

"How astute, Mand'alor."

"Jaster is fine, Ari-Ben."

Arian slung the suitcase over his shoulder and Menander put his helmet back on, getting to his feet. 

He swallowed thickly. "Lead the way then, Jaster."

* * *

The Mandalorians had watched him quietly the next morning, not interrupting him, but attentive. They watched as he braided his hair, Menander in particular trying to figure out how he could plait it so easily with his eyes closed. They watched him open his travelling robe when Obi-Wan began to get restless, the little one quick to latch on and calm. They paid attention to the way he changed the boy, dressed him, then settled him in the sling. 

"Dare I ask what about this enthralls you so?" He raised an eyebrow at them. 

"Don't see infants much." Arian said. 

"Mandalorian women tend to bottle-feed. Taking off the plate is too risky." Mark replied. 

"Might need to know it later, if Cassius says yes." Menander piped up. 

"I don't have any female or carrying kin." Raylor shrugged.

Jaster remained silent, continuing to merely observe. 

"Hmm. I suppose to me, this is merely very common." 

"Do you always breastfeed so late on Stewjon?" Menander asked. 

"Once they start to walk, we ween usually." He answered. "Until then, it's merely more convenient. We're also less fertile while lactating."

"You are?" Raylor cocked his head. "Why?"

He chuckled. "So we don't get pregnant back to back. It doesn't stop us from seeding our partner in the meantime, just slows our own body down to recover at a more reasonable pace."

Raylor ducked his head. "Right, because- Right."

He hummed. "Forgot already, did you?"

"I mean, I know _theoretically._ You just look like an effeminate human man. It's easy to forget."

He assessed himself in the mirror. "I can't tell. Much of my race shares slender, but defined features."

"Do you have members that lean more feminine?" Arian asked. 

"I suppose so." He frowned. "It's hard for me to tell, honestly. Human gender is a foreign concept to me, I must say. I can hardly imagine what a penis or a vagina look like on their own."

"Huh." Mark rested his chin on the hands he had folded on the back of his chair. "You seem very sex-positive."

"I suppose there is no shame around sex because we only have the one gender. Legitimately _everyone_ has the same experiences - what is there to be ashamed of?" He gave a wary, bitter laugh. "No, what _is_ frowned upon is _casual_ sex. The irresponsibility of it, for both partners. Even marriage and the number of partners doesn't matter so much - sex should occur in a _relationship_ that is _closed_. Stewjoni couples don't share their partners and don't do casual flings or hook-ups. Diplomats are always extremely confused when they enter our versions of brothels only to find that they're rentable rooms for couples equipped with all manner of sex aids and machinery. They expect to pay for bodies, but just doesn't happen."

"Huh." Mark mused. "Similar to Mandalorians, in that sense. We don't do casual sex much either, though that's more about protection than any unspoken cultural rule. We usually have short courtships then marriages."

"Married so quickly?"

"It's easy enough to do." Mark shrugged. "Divorces are even faster."

"Interesting. If I'm to tag along with you to Mandalore, I best take the chance to learn your culture." 

"Will you tell us about Stewjon? It's pretty insular - most of the galaxy only knows the name in reference to slavers." Menander perked up. 

"There's no harm in it, I suppose. What do you wish to know?"

Jaster got the notification on his comm that the repairs to the ship had been completed and stood. The other Mandalorians followed him, with Menander and Raylor taking up the rear and essentially boxing Ari-Ben between four beskar bulwarks. 

"Do you actually exclusively wear dresses and robes, or is that just you?" Menander continued. 

"No, we all do. And yes, they're always colourful. The most bland colours you'll find are pastels, or whites with watercolour patterns."

"Is all hair as long as yours?"

"As a general rule, we do tend to keep our hair long. Some personal preferences or practical means may see it cut off."

"And the ribbon?"

"We're a decorative people." He chuckled. "More practically, the ribbon keeps the braids together and intact. It's also less damaging to the hair than plastic or rubber bands, since it doesn't tear strands. Ribbon is just the most common ornament, however. Some wind vines, flowers and metal in as well."

"Wow."

"Indeed. The level of ornamentation gets absurd when we have festivals. I've seen people thread whole strings of lights through their braids, attached to battery packs under their robes. It can be quite the spectacle."

"I notice you didn't shave, but have no stubble."

"Our _metoikoi_ ancestor did not produce hair, strictly speaking. They also produced keratin, but it was more in line with nail-like structures that grew from their head. Those structures were metallic in nature, however, and that is why Stewjoni hair is both extremely thick and durable as well as metallically coloured. That said, we tend not to produce body hair at all, and it's essentially random whether or not one is capable of facial hair other than eyebrows. I do not possess the ability to grow a beard in any fashion."

"That's kind of crazy."

"Most humans are not strictly human." He reminded. "My species is merely an example of cross-breeding that managed to coagulate both progenitor species."

"Still. Wow." 

"Anything else?"

"Spears and javelins - why? Why not just a blaster?"

"Another cultural relic."

"It didn't look like a relic last night." Mark commented dryly, pulling a snigger out of Arian. 

He rolled his eyes. "Our soldiers _do_ use blasters and rifles. Most who maintain the spear and javelin do so for exercise, for tradition' sake, or to use them in combat dances. Traditionalists run combat schools and teach how to fight with them properly, and its quite a popular sport."

"I gotta say, I didn't expect Stewjon to be the type of place to have a bloodsport arena." Raylor laughed. 

"That's because you don't know anything about Stewjon."

"Which type did you do?" Menander asked. 

"All three. I was trained traditionally from the time I was able to hold a javelin, maintained it into adulthood and used them in festival dances."

"Must be why it moves around you like a extra limb." Mark mused. "Very efficient and responsive."

"Thank you. I've not been able to practise as much as I'd like."

"Could have fooled me." Arian muttered. 

He couldn't help but smirk. "I'm sure my masters would have found flaws."

Raylor nudged him. 'Good thing they're not around, then."

"Indeed." He grinned back. "I need only bask in your awe, not suffer criticism."

"Do you plan to teach Obi-Wan?" Mark threw over his shoulder. "I think you should."

"I did intend to, yes. With some peace of mind, however, now I'm fairly confident that I actually _could_."

"Hmm. Space and secrecy would make it difficult to teach in hiding." Mark nodded. "You may find yourself with more than one student if you're obvious about it on Mandalore, just to warn you."

"I will bear that in mind."

Jaster handed some credits off to the port hand as he hit the button to open the shuttle. It was quite a large one - as to be expected when travelling in five - though it had obviously seen its better days. Jaster took the suitcase Arian was holding and gestured for his entourage to enter first, stopping Ari-Ben with a gentle hand on his elbow. "Last chance to change your mind."

"I may be cautious, but I am not fickle." He replied, trying to stop himself from sounding defensive. "I have made up my mind."

Jaster nodded, not at all offended. "I just wanted to make sure, that's all. You have every right to be cautious, and I'm not looking to make you unnecessarily stressed or scared."

His annoyance drained away, replaced with a hint of guilt and an increasing fondness. Jaster, in particular, had become much softer than he had presented himself in the bar. Perhaps it was who he truly was, perhaps it was a trick. Ari-Ben didn't know, but he _wanted_ to trust this man. His own voice softened in response, and he reached up to stroke the bottom edge of the helmet. "I do know that, and I apologize for being waspish. It's not my intention."

"No offense taken." Jaster's hand was still on his elbow, and it looked and felt like it took a monumental effort on Jaster's behalf to remove it. "I'd rather you snap at me because you're annoyed at my questions, rather than quiet and afraid."

His fingers looked so slender and pale against the chipped black paint on the helmet. "What would you make of me being quiet and content?"

"I'd probably stare." Jaster admitted. "You'd probably look like a painting, some grand mural of a waking dream, thoughtful and serene."

"I'm nothing so beautiful as that."

Jaster shifted, unconsciously moving forward just a fraction. "Art isn't made to appreciate itself."

His fingers slid around the edge, resting on the helmet's approximation of a chin. His eyes tracked the movement, and he wondered why Jaster hadn't taken off his helmet when his men hadn't been so shy. He wished he had of. He wanted to know what colour Jaster's eyes were. His gaze drifted back up to the centre of the visor. "Yes, I suppose it isn't."

Above them, the engines of the ship fired up. 

All at once, the world that felt so comfortably distant snapped back into place and Jaster's hand slipped away. The Mand'alor stepped back, caught for a second, then walked up the gangway. Ari-Ben pulled his baby around to his front, stealing a moment of comfort from his baby's curious gaze. 

"This is a terrible idea, and not for any of the reasons I feared." He whispered to the babe, who only giggled in response. The traitor. 

He mounted the gangway himself, and climbed up into the cockpit, taking the copilot's seat next to Jaster, who resolutely did not look at him. The other four were checking over the ship and their personal spaces, storing their weapons and getting more comfortable as they exited the atmosphere and settled into a hyperspace lane. 

There was a knock at the door and Mark stuck his head in, sans-helmet. "Ari-Ben, which of us do you want to bunk with? Usually the four of us pair off and Jaster has his own space, but the ship's not big enough to give you your own space."

He looked over at Jaster, who was making the final adjustments to the nav. "Would you be comfortable sharing a space with me?"

"I don't mind, no." 

"Just place my suitcase in Jaster's room, then. I'll see to the rest."

Mark nodded sharply then left again. 

"Are you going to be uncomfortable with me?" He asked after a period of silence. 

Jaster rolled his shoulders. "There's a very delicate line between attraction and objectification to someone who doesn't know you well. I'm not willing to fall afoul of that line."

"You're attracted to me?"

Jaster tossed him what could only be a deadpan look. "I do have eyes behind the visor."

"I'm flattered."

Jaster snorted. "Until I take up too much space on the bunk, anyway."

He chuckled. "Yes, I suppose so. Whatever shall I do?"

"Push me back over. That's what Mark does."

"I'll bear that in mind."


	2. My Body

The flight from Dantooine to Mandalore would be roughly a week, and halfway through that trip, Jaster had informed him, they'd have to make a stop for fuel and supplies. Too many times having to go without, Arian had informed him, made Jaster a cautious man. 

But Ari-Ben was aware of exactly how close that brought him to Stewjon, and the proximity did not sit well with him. While his parents may not be quite so willing to send their own out into the unknown territory of the Outer Rim worlds or be so inclined as to fruitlessly pay bounty hunters to chase him, the Mid Rim worlds were a little different. He even suspected that his parents anticipated that he remain close enough to Stewjon to escape back to it if necessary - an admittedly not bad plan - but keep out of his parents' hold. Of course, that is _not_ what he'd done. But a year was also not too long a time to be gone, certainly not long enough for a hunter to give up on a bounty. If the Mandalorians caught on that he was anxious, they graciously didn't mention it. Perhaps they weren't interested in trying to pull more information out of him than he was willing to give, or maybe they figured that his reason for being on the run was enough.

Whatever the case, the Mandalorians - and Menander in particular - provided a relief he hadn't known he'd need from parenting. Obi-Wan was far from a fussy baby, perfectly content with taking what food and sleep were offered to him, but it was nice to simply _be_ without having to constantly worry over where his baby was, or what was happening to him. Menander was very good at getting Obi-Wan to squeal and laugh, making the happy baby kick and flail when he blew raspberries into his stomach. 

What he hadn't expected was Jaster waking him up in the night cycle, a gentle hair rocking his shoulder. 

"Hmm?" He rolled over, his sleeping robes pooling around him. To his surprise, Jaster - dressed down as well into sleeping clothes but wearing his helmet - had Obi-Wan in his arms. The baby was wide awake, looked like he had been for a bit, but had his mouth pressed to Jaster's chest and was whining in confusion. "I think he's hungry."

He twisted further, checking the chrono and cussing quietly. "Normally, I would have fed him by now. So sorry." He sat up and extended his arms. "Here, I'll take him."

Jaster handed the baby over, the little one making a disgruntled noise, and watched in attentive silence as Ari-Ben shrugged the slipping shoulder of his robe off and positioned Obi-Wan, the baby grumbling for a moment before managing to latch and suckling hungrily. Ari-Ben hissed, petting Obi-Wan's head. 

"Come now, my dear, not so hard. I'm not going anywhere." 

Jaster sat down next to him on the bed, attention still rapt. 

"You should have woken me up." Ari-Ben said. "I would have dealt with him."

"I don't mind." Jaster replied quietly, reaching over to stroke Obi-Wan's copper hair. "Menander takes up all his time during the day. It's nice to hold him in the quiet. He's also a very amicable child."

"He-heh, yes, he is. Also very manipulative when he turns those big blue eyes on you."

Jaster hummed. "I know what you mean."

"I appreciate you doing so, however."

"This is the Way." Jaster was so warm next to him, the thin layers of their clothes doing little to keep in the heat. It made his skin tingle, like he was too close to a lightning rod. "Caring for children is a privilege."

"I'm glad you feel that way."

"I did want to ask you something. You can feel free not to answer."

"You may ask."

"What does your financial situation look like?"

"My finances? Why do you ask?"

"Mandalorians are semi-nomadic. Most of our worldly possessions - the ones that matter - stay on our person. But I do have a home, on Mandalore, in Keldabe, the capital. If you wanted to, I would pay you to stay there and keep it for me. I'm planetside just enough to make use of it, so I don't really want to get rid of it, but I'm definitely not present enough to make _good_ use of it. With a little one, I would think a decent size house in a secure city would be the best place to raise him."

"You would _pay_ me to live in your house?"

"I can't expect you to clean it and take care of it for free. I will also still be living there, when I'm planetside, so its more akin to a live-in housekeeper than a renter."

"What _would_ you expect me to do?"

"Keep the place clean, inform me of things that need repairs, make sure it doesn't burn down - day to day life. Utilities and such come out of my accounts directly, so you wouldn't have to worry about that. You'd have to pay for your own food and any other personal affects you'd want, however."

"House me freely but not pay for my food? What a monster." He rolled his eyes. "You're being incredibly generous to a stranger."

"We've been in hyperspace for two days and three nights now. If you wanted to kill any of us, you would have. Beskar can't protect your throat when you're sleeping."

"I suppose it can't." 

"Consider it. If you'd rather find a place of your own and you've sufficient funds to do so, don't let me stand in your way."

"How much liberty can I take with your house?"

"Liberty?"

"Decoration. I can only image its rather drab if you're hardly there to live in it."

Jaster glanced down at his sleeping robes. "I can't say I own a stitch of fabric that's duckling yellow, that's true."

He switched Obi-Wan to the other breast with a huff. "You've done yourself a disservice, then."

"You can do whatever you want with it. I'm mostly aiming for my house not to smell like dust and my bedding not to be musky."

He gasped in horror, appalled to his soul. "You would treat your linens with such disrespect?"

"We're a utilitarian people. It doesn't have to be pretty - just functional."

"Yes, and I suppose the most _efficient_ way to live is to let dust mites, moths and moisture dissolve your fabrics before your eyes, hmm? I can't- How uncivilized of you."

"All the more reason I need your help, I guess."

"Now I feel compelled. I wasn't aware your house was in the midst of a crisis."

"It's not that bad."

"I'm Stewjoni." He met Jaster's gaze, eyes to visor. "It very much qualifies."

"I'll leave it in your capable hands, then."

"Seems you had better." He scoffed, unable to believe what he was bearing. "Living in your own home like a barbarian."

Obi-Wan was nearly asleep, eyes nearly rolling up in his head from his feeding-induced catatonic state. Jaster reached out and took him, letting the baby's head rest against his shoulder. "Get some more sleep, Ari-Ben."

"I can put him down."

Jaster's voice was soft, intimate. It felt like he'd known the man his whole life. He wondered if Jaster felt the same, if part of the reason the Mand'alor was so careful was because of it."I know, _mesh'la_ , but you don't have to."

He straightened up his robes, the cool recycled air passing uncomfortably across his wet and sensitive nipples. "I can't help but feel useless watching you."

"Why do you think we're so keen to help you? Raising children is a difficult, if rewarding task." Jaster paced over to Obi-Wan's makeshift cradle, placing him down in the little nest made from a spare durasteel chestplate and three blankets made from dense wool, flannelette and silk respectively. "This is also something you'll have to get used to - many on Mandalore communally parent, and you'll like receive much assistance from your neighbours once you're settled in."

"You can't blame me. I've never raised a baby with someone at my side."

"There's no blame to be handed out." Jaster replied, returning to his side. "But you should be sleeping right now."

"As should you."

"I'm fine."

He raised an eyebrow, sliding over to the other side of the bed and leaving his previous space open. "Come. I know you'll be awake before me anyway. Rest."

Jaster hesitated, but eventually laid down next to him, breathing out a gentle sigh as he did.

"See? Was that so hard?" He pulled the blankets he'd been using over them both, a thick but breathable fleece. But Jaster didn't answer, his breathing already low and even. 

| | | 

Ari-Ben was most of the way through his wake-up routine when he realized that Obi-Wan wasn't in the room with him. In a rush of vibrant sapphire fabric, he burst into the galley to find Menander, Raylor, Arian and Mark frozen around the little table, staring at him with their morning caf. 

"Obi-Wan." Was all he could get out, his heart in his throat. Menander was a likely culprit, but he's never taken the babe without asking first. 

"Jaster has him, up in the cockpit." Raylor said slowly, like he's talking to a startled horse. "Apparently he likes the hyperspace lights."

He nearly collapsed against the doorframe in relief, one hand pressed to the pastel underlayer covering his primary heart. The Mandos in the galley looked suitably alarmed, like he might keel over dead right in front of them. "Merciful colours . . . I was so scared."

"I can tell." Mark replied, but his usual snark is missing. 

"Maybe you should take a minute." Raylor added. "Finish getting ready and then go up to the cockpit?"

He finally looked down at himself, at the disheveled clothing and unbraided hair falling over his shoulder. He's a wreck, and he looked it. "A very good suggestion I think I will take you up on."

"Our room is right across the hall." Arian offered. "You can put your clothing to rights there. I can grab you a ribbon, if you want?"

"I'll get the ribbon on the way up, I think." He offered them a genuine smile. "Though I will duck into your room for a moment."

He ducked into the other room and pushed down his own mortification. It's one thing for his clothing to slip when he's sleeping, or to open it to feed his baby, but it's a whole other thing to not even do up his outer dress before rushing around like a madman. He knew the Mandos wouldn't look down on him for it - their reaction was as genuine as his own - but he's also aware that such a breach in decorum back home would be unforgivable. He walked back out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster, only slightly hurrying to his own rooms, grabbing a sapphire ribbon, and then heading up to the cockpit. 

As promised, Jaster was sitting slouched in the pilot's seat, in full armour, with little Obi-Wan sitting upright on his lap and completely mesmerized by the stars passing by at Lightspeed. 

"Ari-Ben." Jaster acknowledged when he takes the co-pilot's position. 

"Jaster. I hope he's not been any trouble."

Jaster hummed, running his fingers through the copper curls that adorn the baby's head. "Not at all. He was already awake for the day when I was getting up. I was hoping you could catch some extra sleep."

"You don't have to feel responsible for me." He felt he must insist. "I have cared for myself and him very successfully without outside aid."

Jaster sighed, from deep in his chest. "I understand that, and I have a deep respect for you ability to do so. But what you can't seem to accept is that you _don't have to_ , it's not a requirement. Children are the foundation of the future, and any adult with the chance to care for the young ones is blessed to do so. I don't feel obligated to do anything - _I want to."_

He swallowed, no response ready on his tongue. 

Jaster's voice was as soft as the way he touched Obi-Wan's cheek. "I want to care for him." He hesitated. "And you."

"Why?" He asked in return, voice small. 

"I don't know." Jaster admitted honestly. "Something about you draws me in. So, even if you choose to move on, will you let me care for you for now? Please?"

His heart melted in his chest. "I . . . I can manage that."

Jaster blew out a breath, leaning down to press the top of his visor to the crown of Obi-Wan's head. "Thank you."

The tension that's existed between them since the moment they first spoke to each other thickened in the recycled air, and Ari-Ben was nearly suffocated on it. An unlucky mix of lust and the desire for experience drove him to the encounter that resulted in Obi-Wan, but this feeling now was so much more than that. That lust is there, the sexual drive his species was known for, but he wanted _Jaster_ , not just the hormones and orgasms. He wanted the experience of the man, a pervasive feeling as natural as it is intimidating. Whatever they could have would be so much _more_ , and that's a thought equally frightening and reassuring. 

He sat back in his chair, beginning the process of braiding his hair. It's something he's done all his life, and far from arduous, though a tad lengthy. He took that time to mull over all Jaster has said to him, to try and understand himself, and the position he's found himself in. 

And the unspoken lie that held him back.

* * *

The planet they land on to refuel and resupply was a very minor one just inside the Mid Rim. It's almost more of a trading outpost than a colonized planet proper. 

When they land, the Mandalorians split up to go about unordered tasks - likely things they always go collect in ports like these - which left Ari-Ben the freedom to go collect things he needed for himself. Jaster promised to catch up with him at the cantina in an hour, since he's currently discussing parts and fuel with the port mechanic. 

It was unsurprising that new fabric was hard to come by, only basic sewing kits or leather patches available. But he did find the large, sturdy pins he needs for Obi-Wan's sling and robes. Even easy babies are hard on their clothes. 

There are upsides and downsides to having come from an insular culture, he has learned. Downsides like comforts being scarce - foods from his childhood, cloth being subpar or unavailable, proper hygiene products not being commonly sold - demonstrate how little the outside world really does know about Stewjon and her people. Upsides, however, include much of the knowledge about Stewjoni biology. Of course, people know about the intersexuality and genderlessness, but there's a great deal about them that gets disguised by the notion that such things are _all_ that is different. 

Ari-Ben's vestigal heart kicked into gear as his adrenaline fired off. His hearing narrowed in on the sound of a rifle being loaded from the direction of the roofs. His skin's sensitivity jumped, and he could feel the displacement of air caused by the woman that just walked passed him. His vision sharpened and intensified, upping the contrast and making everything more distinct. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the rifleman. Without a thought, he palmed a javelin, situated on the other side of his body from the gunman, and shifts just enough to shield his baby. 

"Ari-Ben!" He heard through the crowd - Raylor, most likely - but he knew that the gunman just got his target confirmed. 

They both broke their standoff at the same time, but only the rifleman wasn't prepared. He spun around in a whirl of shimmering sapphire fabric and metallic embroidery, the haft of the javelin catching the tranquilizer dart and deflecting it. 

"He's armed." The gunman barked into his comm in dismay, hastily trying to reload. 

Ari-Ben wasted no such time, using his momentum to break into a sprint. It's another factor non-Stewjoni aren't aware of - the long, springy tendons developed for the thickly mountainous terrain of the planet. Running across a flat distance like this means all his climbing ability transfers into agility, and he wove through the crowd like a ribbon through air. 

More rooftop footsteps kicked into gear and he narrowly dodged three other shots. He needed to hide Obi-Wan. Once the baby is safe, he could fight them - kill them for their miscalculation. No one was going to take him unless he wanted to be taken, and his parents weren't the exception. 

He slid through the passage into the port, relieved to see Mark opening the ship back up. Mark seemed to hear him too, because he turned and braced. But Ari-Ben didn't slam into him - he tossed Obi-Wan to him instead. 

"Protect him!" He ordered, swirling on his attackers with his spear in hand. To his credit, Mark immediately shielded Obi-Wan with his own body, disappearing into the ship before the bounty hunters appeared, eight in all. One of them, a female Twi'lek, holsterd her pistols and stepped forward, hands raised. 

"Prince Kenobi, we're here on behalf of your parents. We're here to bring you home, not to hurt you."

"Oh, I am very much aware of who you are and what your mandate is." His fingers tightened on the spear's haft. "You can tell my parents not to bother. They betrayed me, and I will not return."

The Twi'lek obviously wasn't expecting his response. It then registered that he wouldn't come quietly, or willingly, and if they want to get paid, they'd have to be aggressive but gentle with him - a losing combination against someone already armed. 

"Your Highness, be reasonable." She tried again. "They only want you safe, and we both know you're safest on Stewjon. All of us are Guild members, not freelance hunters, so you don't have to worry for your safety."

"I appreciate the position you're in, my dear, but there's only one way you'll take me back to Stewjon." He fell into a fighting stance. "And that's as a corpse."

"You're a prince." One of the other hunters sputtered. "How bad can it really be?"

"When your parents attempt to give away your child without your permission, and in secret, with the aid of the palace staff and guard, you won't think to ask that question." He snapped. "My baby is not some ill-gotten toy, some vague indiscretion. Any social repercussions for the situation that led to his birth were mine to carry, and throwing a living, breathing being that I carried in my own body away like so much trash is unforgivable. So come then. The only way we will meet again is when one of us is on the pyre. Bring them their corpse, or make one of yourself."

The Twi'lek sighed, transparently unwilling to attack him. An odd feature for a bounty hunter, but he was worth more to them alive and well rather than dead. 

A few of the other hunters rolled their shoulders and set forward. They couldn't shoot at him - he could deflect the darts and they don't want him dead - so physically overwhelming him was the last option. 

He didn't wait for them, however. He rushed forward with a sudden speed they didn't anticipate, and soon one of them was headless and spurting blood. The liquid got on his dress and splashed across his cheek and into his hair, but he didn't care. He wasted no time engaging the next hunter, smoothly weaving around them as well and cutting off an arm before slicing open their neck. The third got a javelin through the centre of her chest, piercing at least her heart but also probably a lung. The fourth drew a bead on him with a stun rifle, but he knew how to fight, and the swirling fabric and long, wide sleeves of his people's clothing obscure the torso and limbs. That man also got incapacitated by a javelin, one that pinned his arm to his chest. 

The Twi'lek woman had backed off, standing under the shadows of the port's arches. The remaining three didn't seem very keen on engaging him either, but the credits must mean more to them than their dead comrades, because they came regardless. 

One of them got taken out by a beam rifle shot from behind him - likely Mark, once Obi-Wan was secured and Jaster was informed - but he pays it no mind. He swept out with his leg, spinning the spear across his shoulders in the opposite direction and impaling the hunter by the throat gills. The remaining hunter got to feel the unforgiving steel shatter his leg before he's shot in the head. 

When he looked back, the Twi'lek woman was gone, but in her place stood the other Mandalorians. Their helmets were unreadable, but there's an uncomfortable tension lingering in the open space. 

He replaced the spear in its harness, maintaining eye contact with the visors even as he pulled the javelins from the dead hunters with a vicious retributive aspect he hadn't entered combat with. He felt too big for his skin, vibrating in rage and resentment - the presumption of both his parents and his hunters that he's just acting out. As though the body from his body was an inconvenience, a stray to be given away. 

Finally, Jaster motioned for the men to get on the ship. "Make sure Obi-Wan is okay. Patch him up if he needs it and keep him distracted until we take off."

"Yessir." Menander replied, leading the other two into the ship's belly. 

Jaster approached cautiously, slow but not afraid. 

"Spit it out." He couldn't help but snap. "I've no patience for this pretense."

"You're Stewjoni royalty."

"Yes, I am. The only heir to the _basilei_. I'm sure the bounty is spectacular, if that's what you're turned your mind to."

"It's not." Jaster said softly. "But it does contextualize some things."

"I'm sure it does." He snorted, turning away in derision. He should have known better than to leave the Outer Rim.

" _Mesh'la_ , stop." Jaster said firmly, cupping his face and forcing them eye-to-visor. "Did I not already promise not to take you anywhere you didn't want to go?"

"Credits are credits are credits."

"I'm the Mand'alor. A king in my own right." Jaster's not losing patience, necessarily, but he wouldn't put up with this needlessly offensive attitude. "Why in the name of the Ka'ra would I return you to parents willing to give away children? Calm yourself and think before you let another accusation against me pass through your lips."

He wanted to bite out cutting words, words he wanted to evicerate his parents with, but that's not fair. Jaster and his commandos have been nothing but accommodating and understanding. All the rigid fury that kept him up drains out, and he felt the tears well up, but he refused to allow them out. He slumped against Jaster, hiding his blood-streaked face in the taller man's shoulder. 

Jaster sighed, wrapping his arms around the weeping prince, and letting the two of them sink down into the dusty ground of the port. 

| | | 

He couldn't meet the eyes of the commandos, even once they're in hyperspace again. He took his baby from Mark and secluded himself in Jaster's quarters. They didn't attempt to stop him, but Arian handed him a paper-wrapped package when he went. 

Obi-Wan seemd to pick up on his carrier's mood, because he turned snuffly and taciturn once they're alone. He seemed to want to be anywhere but his carrier's arms, despite the fact he didn't fight the embrace, and that only makes the sobs caught in Ari-Ben's throat want to escape even more. Eventually, he just settled his little one in his makeshift cradle, and the baby fell off into a contented nap. 

The weren't any large mirrors aboard the ship, only ones big enough to shave in, but Ari-Ben used it to assess the damage to his dress regardless, the red, green and violet stains now dry and crusting on the luminous sapphire fabric. His spear and javelins, too, need cleaning, but he felt too aimless to do anything. His cleanliness wouldn't matter if he's told to leave at the next port, and he couldn't help but feel that Jaster wouldn't be willing to house him anymore. He believed Jaster when he said he wouldn't be returned to Stewjon against his will, but there's no contract between them that says Jaster has any further obligation. Ari-Ben lied by omission, concealing facts that may have affected Jaster and his crew had things gone a little differently - facts that might have resulted in their deaths, or bounties on them too.

Ari-Ben hadn't felt this lost since he first set foot on foreign soil as a runaway, but at least there, he was completely in control. He could go anywhere, do anything and be anyone. No royal trappings, no insistent advisors, no diligent teachers or restrictive customs. He could have abandoned his Stewjoni way of life all together, hidden amongst the populace as a human with strangely radiant hair and a son. He could have even made himself look like a human woman, and avoided questions about having a child entirely. The labels of human gender had never bothered him one way or the other - they were, after all, just a pronoun from a language that wasn't even his own. 

The door swished open and he looked up from the stain, finding Jaster walking in. The Mand'alor set his rifle, knives and blaster on their racks, pulling off his cape and harnesses as well. 

"I understand."

Ari-Ben's breath caught, but he couldn't bring himself to tempt fate - he's not sure he wanted to know what Jaster intended for him. 

"Why you hid your position, I mean." Jaster continued. "The puck for a contract for a Kenobi has come through the Guild to my own hunters. I don't blame you, and neither do my men. Our own anonymity is easier to create - yours is not."

"What are you planning to do with us?" He asked, voice small. 

"Nothing." Jaster replied softly. "Well, I'll inform my hunters not to engage in the Kenobi contract, but otherwise, nothing. The position at my house is still open to you, and if you want to go, you're free to do so."

His fingers twisted in the cloth underneath them. "It can't be that simple."

"Your choices are much more complex than mine." Jaster said, sitting down next to him on the bed. "I'm not the one at risk. But, I promised you freedom and choice, so that is what I'll do."

"You're too kind." He ducked his head, hands tightening to fists. "I don't deserve it."

"Maybe." Jaster shifted closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "But your child does. And that's the only reason you're out here in wild space, cutting down bounty hunters. There's nothing more admirable than protecting a child."

"It's oddly difficult to accept-" He took a deep breath. "Everything in my life has come with attachments, responsibilities, caveats."

"You're a prince - it's hardly surprising that you always anticipate something being asked of you." Jaster pressed the edges of their foreheads together. "I've only been Mand'alor as an adult, but you've been raised under this weight."

He laughed humourlessly. "No doubt I seem rather selfish."

"You were raised to be selfless and dutiful, and you are. You are faithful and attentive, fierce and resilient. It's a compliment to the way you were raised that you should take to that responsibility in every facet of your life - especially your child." Jaster tilted up his chin. "Be honest with me. Would you have left Stewjon if your parents had been dead, if you alone were responsible for your people's welfare? Would you have ever left if they hadn't backed you into a corner?"

The word was soft and weighted as it passes his lips. "No."

Jaster hummed. "That's what I thought."

He swallowed, could feel his throat bob against the knuckles of Jaster's fingers. "I can still stay? With you, on the ship, on Mandalore, in your house?"

"Yes, _Mesh'la,_ and you can do whatever you want with all of them."


	3. My House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SO A FRIEND OF MINE MADE FANART OF ARI-BEN. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DO LOOK AT IT, IT'S AMAZING. 
> 
> https://twitter.com/KatoPhoenix/status/1358186277447880704

Jaster's home was a dim and uninspired place that immediately made Ari-Ben itch. The soulless, barren walls were marked apart from the unattended floors by tragic furniture and not an ounce of personality to be found.

"Who did you by this place from? The colour beige?"

"I told you I don't care for it like I should. It's a tool." Jaster shrugged in return. 

"I can't believe you live like this." He groused, carefully avoiding the furniture to open the windows. "This is intolerable."

"Intolerable enough that you'd rather live elsewhere?"

"Intolerable enough that you are going to go purchase me a loom and as many skeins of cotton and wool as you can carry in as many colours as you can manage."

"You're demanding for a housekeeper."

He gestured to the abhorrent wasteland that surrounded him. "I hadn't expected to walk into a humanitarian crisis. I've seen caves with more charm."

"Stewjoni caves are full of jewels and precious metals."

"Yes, and you don't have the wherewithal to compete with the decorative skills of a hunk of _rock._ " He bristled like it physically affected him. "Go, do as I said. You'll probably need help carrying the loom, so get Mark and Raylor to help you."

Jaster couldn't help the low chuckle from escaping him. "Of course, your Majesty."

He huffed, his own beautiful copper hair and fetching green dress standing out starkly against the bland backdrop. "Not in this abysmal hellscape, I'll tell you that. Now go, before I really do decide to turn away from this disaster."

Jaster bowed, only somewhat sarcastically, and left the house to do as he was told. At his back, Obi-Wan grunted and squirmed, apparently equally as abhorred as his carrier.

"I know, sweet one." Ari-Ben cooed. "I will do my utmost to revive this poor, wretched house."

| | | 

Jaster had also wound up needing Arian's help as well, but he's returned with the demanded elements. In the time it took for the four hapless warriors to figure out what they were even sent for, Ari-Ben had cleaned the house top to bottom, the sheets hanging in the backyard on a wire. 

"Took you long enough." Ari-Ben's hair was pulled back into a bun so it didn't spill over his shoulder, and his sleeves had been rolled up and pinned. Despite being sweaty and work-warm, he still managed to look artfully tousled instead of ragged. What a vision. "Place the loom in that corner and stack the cotton and wool separately."

"Yessir." Mark replied, carrying one half of the loom along with Arian. Jaster, carrying the wool, and laughed,, carrying the cotton, placed the bundles on opposite sides of the loom. 

As Mark and Arian unfolded the loom, Ari-Ben inspected it. "This is a lethenis loom."

"A saleswoman at the market directed us." Mark admitted. "When Jaster told her he was purchasing it for a Stewjoni, she directed us immediately to this, and only asked for a number of skeins and which type before just choosing the colours."

"I'll have to find and thank her." He stroked the wooden frame of the loom. "Lethenis looms are made with Krisia wood and treated with Harmonia resin."

"That's good, yes?" Raylor cocked his head. 

"Oh yes. This loom was probably made on Stewjon - the wood and resin make it incredibly resilient to movement and pressure, meaning you can weave tighter or looser at your pleasure."

"Good, then." Mark puffed. "Because I had no fucking idea what she was talking about."

Ari-Ben laughed, light and airy, stroking over the wood that made him slightly homesick. "Yes, very good." 

Jaster ushered the others away. "I'll have you back for dinner for your help."

Raylor laughed, but Mark and Arian manhandled him out the door before he could speak. 

Ari-Ben moved around the loom, stroking his fingers over the sharp cheekbone of his helmet. "Thank you. I did not expect something so extravagant."

"It is what you asked for." 

"After all I've put you through, you're just so giving." 

Jaster chuckled. "Oh, _mesh'la_ , you haven't even touched my threshold for trouble."

"Give me time." He backed off, turning his attention back to the loom. "You told me that you are okay with my making changes to your home. But tell me honestly how much I can do. What do you wan to keep? What would you want to change? What do you not care about?"

"Everything but my personal affects mean little or nothing to me. You can change it as you please. Just don't mess with the actual structure of the house. They're built as they are to resist invasion."

"And the yard?"

"All yours. I've no affection for plants."

"I'll hold you to that."

Jaster chuckled. "I did want to tell you that I've got another mission coming up shortly that will bring me off-world for the better part of two months. You won't have to worry about me interrupting your renovations."

"When do you leave?"

"The end of the week. An ally of ours hired us."

He nodded, fingers tightening in the skein he was holding. "Do your best not to die."

"I'll endeavour to." The Mand'alor ran his hand down his arm. "It's sweet that you would worry for me when I've seen you go into battle now twice without a stitch of armour on your body."

"It was close-quarters combat and I was at the end of a long, pointy stick with a small number of combatants."

"Six and eight are not small numbers to go against alone."

"That is what we are trained to fight. Up to fifteen can be handily dealt with using the style."

"Regardless." Jaster squeezed his elbow. "Don't fear for me."

"Be prepared to wear actual colour when you return."

Jaster pressed his helmet to his shoulder, then left him alone with the loom. 

Ari-Ben pulled the lush violet satin of his robes to his left, sliding down onto the stool with his skein in hand. The familiar warmth of mindless physical labour settled into his shoulders and he took a deep breath. "Onwards, Ari-Ben."

| | | 

When it came time for dinner, Ari-Ben was nearly startled right off his loom by Raylor's gentle hand on his shoulder. 

"Heh, sorry." The Mandalorian smiled. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine." He smiled back. "What can I do for you?"

"Jaster wanted me to tell you that dinner is ready."

"So soon?" He glanced over at Obi-Wan, where the baby was smushing his face repeatedly into a soft skein. "He's not made a sound."

"You don't have to come if you're busy, Jaster just wanted to let you know." 

"I'll be in in a moment. Feel free to start without me."

"Okay. I'll let him know."

He returned to the loom, looking just to finish off the design he had in mind. He startled again when a lamp in the corner of the room flicked on, and he saw Jaster sitting against a corner of the couch playing with Obi-Wan. The room had gotten dark in the time he'd lost. 

"I missed dinner, didn't I?"

Jaster looked up at him, helmet still on even in his casual clothing. "You did."

"I'm so sorry. It genuinely wasn't my intention."

"No offense taken, _mesh'la_. It wouldn't be the first time I've been at a communal dinner and someone was too wrapped up in a task to join."

"I said I would-"

"It's just a dinner. There will be more." Jaster picked up the puzzle cube from there Obi-Wan had dropped it and returned it to him. "Besides, when was the last time you got to do something you enjoyed?"

He looked down at the design manifesting on the loom. "Long before Obi-Wan."

"We're not a people who give much heed to the attempt at perfection. In fact, we view someone who appears perfect as highly suspicious."

"Heh, why am I not surprised?"

Jaster chuckled. "You're pragmatic too."

He twisted to face his host and winced, coming aware of the deep and uncomfortable throb in his chest. "I should feed Obi-Wan."

Jaster got up from the couch and brought the babe with him, pulling the curtains behind Ari-Ben. Despite not being ashamed, Ari-Ben did very much appreciate the privacy. Perhaps he had also gotten used to hiding the act from prying eyes, since it would give away his Stewjoni heritage. He loosed the ties of his robe, rolling his shoulders and letting the fabric fall down to his elbows. Jaster handed Obi-Wan to him, and the babe latched instantly, hungrily suckling away. Jaster remained at his side, looking down on them and just watching. 

"Not that I'm offended, but what so fascinates you about watching me do this?"

"I don't see many pregnant Mandalorian women, and the ones that are natural mothers also tend to be working mothers, which means they don't breastfeed, even should their species allow it. You're the only person I've ever seen do it in person."

"Mandalorian women don't breastfeed? At all?"

"Most of the human ones don't, from what the women in the Journeymen Protectors used to tell me. You make money based on how much you work, and you can't go carting your baby off with you into a warzone. From what I've seen, most take the latter half of their pregnancy off, and however long it takes them to recover from the birth itself. The babe stays with family here on Mandalore, generall the other parent, a grandparent, an aunt or an uncle. For those with no one, a friend in a similar situation may assist them. Two of the women I knew, Artan and Svedi, used to rotate out so one of them was always at home for their children."

"And your men?"

"Generally the same." He shrugged. "They just have none of the risks and drawbacks associated with pregnancy. I know some men who hung up their armour to stay at home with their children, since their wives had better reputations and made more money."

"I've not spent much time getting familiar with the gender roles of the galaxy at large, only so much to be able to pass as 'male' enough not to be questioned or cornered." He mused. "But it is nice to know that places other than Stewjon find gender just as useless a divider."

Jaster snorted. "What's the use? We're all expected to do the same job - why would we want to cripple our women?"

He switched Obi-Wan to the other breast. "I very much agree."

Jaster continued to watch until Obi-Wan was done, then took the babe back and retreated to the couch. "Carry on with your weaving, _mesh'la_. Obi-Wan is safe in my care."

So Ari-Ben did.

* * *

Ari-Ben had seen Jaster off the morning of his departure and gotten one last blessing to do with the house as he would. He had not wasted the opportunity once the Mand'alor was gone, taking the time to learn his way to the marketplace from the house. Jaster had even given him an advance pay.

The market itself was a lovely place, filled with bright stalls and quaint storefronts. The smell of hot food, warm pastry and fresh spices hung in the air, a heady mixture that overwhelmed Ari-Ben's sharper senses. Some of the spices the armoured Mandalorians were avidly discussing were strong enough to make his eyes water just being near them. The man manning the stall just chuckled at him as he passed. There also seemed to be no order to the manner in which the stalls were arranged - food, clothes, tools and weapons all mixed at random, sometimes even together - but it created in interesting and engaging array. He spent the entire morning wandering the stalls, buying some of the hot food for breakfast and some for the evening to come. The vendor had even given a cup of soup to Obi-Wan, delighting in watching the babe's face shift to wonder at the taste, then laughing when he tried to stick his whole face in the cup. 

"You've got a beautiful _ad_ , wanderer." The vendor complimented. "Your own?"

"Indeed."

"The other _buir_ in the picture?"

"No. Our relationship wasn't intimate, and the pregnancy was an unintended consequence."

"I can tell you're a good parent." The vendor nodded, as if agreeing with himself. "I hope you don't stop with just this one. Many _ade_ in this world need a home too, some not so fortunate as this one to have a parent who chooses to keep them."

"Perhaps when this one is older."

"Aye. Can't say I blame you for wanting to get roots into the soil. Do you plan on staying on Mandalore, wanderer?"

He briefly considered Jaster, and the affection he could already feel building for the man. "If I can."

"I wish you luck then. Did you have something you came to the market for, or just getting acquainted?"

"Something of both, I think. Are there vendors that sell paints here? Both for inside and outside of a house?"

"Aye, aye, there are. You've got to follow the main road left when it forks, and head towards the industrial docks. That's where the imports come from. More raw materials are handled there, and the construction pieces tend to follow. Artsy paint and crafts are more right of here, in with the fabrics and furniture."

"Thank you very much, I appreciate your help." 

"Not a problem. I hope to see you around again soon, wanderer."

Obi-Wan grumbled and pouted when he realized there was no more soup. "I'll have to, if this mood keeps up."

The vendor laughed. "Get your errands done."

"Thank you again."

"You're very welcome."

Ari-Ben took the man's advice and found himself in a much more industrialized sector, with no stalls and efficient storefronts. He entered one that advertised paint on its window, finding two young Twi'lek women and a Zabrak man stocking the shelves. The store was mostly empty, save some contractors in the back discussing siding colours between themselves. The Zabrak man noticed him first, smiling brightly. 

"Hello! We'll be with you in just a moment!"

"There's no hurry, take your time." He replied, wandering through the low gondolas, looking at the offered flooring, tiling and plaster textures. All of these were just samples, of course, and would have to be ordered by the customer in advance of the project. The walls were were the paints were on one side of the store, shelves of them with different uses, finishes and durabilities. Wallpapers lined the other side in large spools, with cubbies underneath of pre-packaged and standardized rolls. At the back of the store was the cash, siding options and spools of tough house wrapping. 

The Zabrak helped the orange Twi'lek woman down from the ladder, and the turquoise Twi'lek woman on the ground started breaking down the boxes. Once the orange woman was safely on the ground, she started to put away the ladder, and the Zabrak made his way over to Ari-Ben. 

"My apologies for keeping your waiting. A maintenance tunnel under the building collapsed a month ago and the floor there is uneven, making stocking the higher shelves on the ladder somewhat hazardous."

"No need to explain yourself - I'm in no rush." He offered a reassuring smile. 

"I'm Solon, by the way."

"Ari-Ben."

"A pleasure. Now, what brings you in?"

"I've recently been given the go-ahead to pretty up the house of my employer while he's away. I'm in the market for indoor and outdoor paint, but I'm also new to the planet and from what I can see of your stucco catalogue, I am woefully informed about what would be the best paints to choose."

Solon nods cheerfully. "I've not been here long myself, either. Miyaa and Avire - the Twi'leks - invited me to come work for them about a year ago now."

"Perhaps I shouldn't be, but I can't help but be surprised to see your species here."

Solon laughs. "Yes, I can imagine. There aren't many Zabrak scattered across the galaxy as is. Many people don't consider emigrating to Mandalore because of its association with, well, Mandalorians. They imagine it's some kind of war-torn hellscape here, which really isn't true. In fact, this is probably one of the safest places I've ever been. Slavers don't dare to come here, and neither does anyone associated with the Hutt crime rings. Even the Mandalorians themselves are much more concerned with food, booze and raising children than extortion. As long as you don't cause trouble, trouble doesn't find you here."

"So I've been told. My employer is a Mandalorian himself, and is much more calm than I anticipated."

"Most of them are." Solon agreed. "They generally get their aggression out on assignments. The only ones that cause trouble are the New Mandalorians from Kalevala and the Death Watch up on Concordia. But that's for the Mand'alor to deal with, not us."

"I suppose so."

"Anyway, you're right about the stucco requiring different paint depending on its mix. You don't know anything about the house's construction?"

"No. All he told me was the house was designed to resist invasion."

"One of the older ones, then. Whereabouts is it in relation to here? I can make a pretty good guess based on where it is. If I'm wrong and the paint doesn't stick, I'll exchange it for you for free."

He paused, trying to think. "I walked about fifteen twenty minutes north and entered the market by the food and weapons vendors."

"Did you meet Grear? Food vendor, probably called you 'wanderer'."

"I did, actually."

"So, if you came in by his entrance, you're in the Old City." Solon nodded, gesturing for Ari-Ben to follow him. "Is the house you're in squat and rectangular?"

"Yes, but also not perfectly perpendicular with the ground. The outer walls are on a bevel, angling towards the roof."

"Definitely the Old City." Solon brought him to a collection of paints near the back of the store. "From what I understand, that district was the original Keldabe, back before space travel was available. The buildings have very much weathered the test of time, made from a silt and clay mixture that formed a kind of paste. They build wooden frames around the buildings and then set burned them, firing the clay and melting the silt to glass. The combination makes them very hardy and waterproof. That does mean specialized paint is required, though." 

"I had no idea one could even make a house in such a fashion."

"The marvels of primitive engineering." Solon pulled a can off a shelf, holding it up. "It's expensive, but it's the only paint that will hold, despite what the others say. It's more along the lines of a glaze, very thick and not the easiest to work with if you plan on doing intricate designs, but it will last with the most vibrant colours. There's some of that same silt in it, so it will bake during a day of good sun and never move."

"I'll trust your knowledge." He paused. "Can I paint over it with another colour?"

"Indeed you can. It's thick enough to completely cover previous paint. On some of the painted houses in the Old City, if you look at the edge of their doorframes, have visible layers of paint."

"The house is roughly the same size as the others in the area - how many cans would you suggest?"

"You might be able to get away with three, but I'd recommend four so you get an even covering. For a base coat, anyway. If you wanted to paint a design over it, it would depend on how large your design would be."

"Do you have any suggestions for the inside of the house?"

"Do the walls curl into the ceiling, with no hard lines or corners?"

He had to think about that. "Yes, they do."

"Then it's original inside, too. Some of them have gone and wallpapered it, or put up walls in front of the old ones, since you can't remove the walls without damaging the structure of the house. However, the internal material is actually a different kind of mixture layered over the original bisque, more akin to an opaque, scuffed glass than an stucco. Common paint will work on it, but there's also a specialty paint for it. The specialty paint is a lot more durable and resists sun damage better."

"I'll do the specialty paint, then."

"Did you have colours in mind?"

"I've not looked at your swatches yet, but I did have a plan I was hoping to follow . . . "

An hour and some after entering the store, Ari-Ben found himself on the road back home. Solon insisted on having the paint delivered, considering the size of the order, and when he tried to dispute it, Miyaa (the orange Twi'lek) came over and informed him in a lilting accent and no uncertain terms that she forbid it. 

"It is my store, pretty one." She said, crossing her arms. "Solon is correct - too heavy for you, too much. It will be on your doorstep by tonight, no earlier."

Avire giggled, standing next to Solon behind the counter and starting the mixing process on the paints already. Her accent wasn't Rylothian, but the friction scars on her neck and wrists were unmistakable. "She's right. I don't know how you intended to carry all this anyway, let alone with a baby on your back."

"I can very well make multiple trips."

"Stupid." Miyaa chittered. "No need! We will bring it. Go now, go home."

"Okay, okay." He laughed. 

"Good." Miyaa shooed him again, making Avire and Solon laugh. 

The good mood the employees had left him with followed him as he traversed the market again, this time finding himself in the 'artsy' sector, as Grear had called it, and helplessly gravitating towards the fabrics. He was looking at a lovely brassy bolt, with an intricate design of leaves, vines and blooms. It would make a lovely outermost layer, and he was very tempted by it, along with the bright orange cotton and pale peach satin that would make excellent thermal and intimate layers to match. 

"So, you're the Stewjoni."

He jolted, spinning around to face a kindly-looking old woman with a strong posture and smile-lined face. He said nothing, but wished very much that he had his spear and javelins on him. 

"No need to be nervous, your Jaster was here a few days ago to buy your loom."

"He did mention someone assisted him." He hedged. 

"I am Feleda, young one. My mother had been a diplomat and knew the Stewjoni quite well. Their passion for fabric rubbed off on her, and I inherited it."

"I see." He relaxed somewhat. "I am Stewjoni, yes, and Jaster did come at my bidding."

She smiled sweetly. "I know, because as soon as I mentioned that my highest end loom was of Stewjon make, he bought it. Quite smitten with you, eh?"

"We've not known each other long."

"All the more smitten, then." She glanced to the side, her eyes widening. "You've got a baby!"

He pulled Obi-Wan's sling around front, the baby curiously looking around. He had quite liked the brass fabric too, reaching out for it. "He's not Jaster's."

"I should hope not." She huffed. "If he was, then you would have been far too lenient to let him only buy you a loom now."

He chuckled. "I don't know about that. He's done quite a lot for me that wasn't necessary."

"Mandalorians show their affection with action, not words or grand gestures." Feleda waved off. "If he takes care of you, he does it because he cares. He'll invest in things you care about, not some overt but wasteful display. Simple, subtle and efficient is the Mandalorian way."

"I'll take your word for it."

"You do have excellent taste, as I expected." Feleda continued. "Those colours would look wonderful against your hair and your skin tone. This yellow flannel here would make an excellent sling or swaddle for your little one."

"It very much would." He admits. "I'm just afraid I don't have the right ribbon to hold it closed. This outer material is quite thick."

"I would suggest you belt it closed rather than bind it." She remarked, reaching under her stall to pull out a long length of brown leather with a buckle. The holes were much higher up than he expected. "You strap it on, then knot the excess leather behind the buckle, so the tail faces down. It's common for the Rangers and Journeymen to do with their harnesses."

"I'm familiar with the technique." His own harness for his spear and javelins used such a knot. "I never considered using it with my clothing."

"It would better on these types of stiffer materials than the silk you're wearing now." She pointed out. "I would normally make formal wear from something like this, or stylish winter wear."

"As would I." He hesitated. 

Feleda seemed to sense his inner turmoil. "You're allowed to have nice things, young one."

He blew out a breath. "I don't know."

"Tell you what, I'll give you a discount on it on the condition that you show your outfit to me when it's done." 

He huffed a laugh. "Only if that applies to material I can do dirty work in too."

"I've got just the thing. Nice and airy, too, so you don't sweat to death."

Feleda also insisted that the material be delivered to his home, saying "It's just the way things are done here" even as she waved him away. 

When he arrived home, he fed Obi-Wan and warmed the meal he'd bought, just finishing cleaning up after himself when a knock at the door alerted him to the arrival of his spoils. The fabrics came first, followed not long after by the large load of paint, which he directed the delivery men to place in the backyard. He spent the rest of the night at the loom, planning and thinking. The next day, he went back to Grear's stall to buy more ready-made food, then returned home to make his chore clothing, the fabric light, airy and a pale green, designed to close on the left with another slit up the side on the right. The day after that, he donned his newly made robe, went outside with his paint and brushes, and got to work.

* * *

The front yard of the house, such as it was, was a hardy and low-lying groundcover of a lemon-lime colour, with small, but heart-shaped leaves covering vines that wove tightly together. The earth beneath the cover was tightly packed and hard, a likely result of the wars that had ravaged the planet in the pre-space eras. No faction since had used enriched uranium or hydrogen in their missiles - especially since the advent of lasers, plasma and accelerated carbon shells - almost exclusively from how they had nearly transformed Mandalore into a wasteland. The planet wasn't so harsh anymore, with millennia between those wars and the present time, but fallout remained. 

Regardless, with the crude but effective little fence surrounding the house, Ari-Ben let Obi-Wan loose to crawl around the groundcover as he pleased. The baby was dressed in the leftover material from his carrier's new work clothes, free to stain them as he saw fit. Ari-Ben was extremely grateful that his child was so intelligent and obedient, taking the warnings away from the paints and the fence with all the due gravity of a royal decree. Still, he made sure to keep an eye on the babe at all times and remain close enough to give chase should someone be foolish enough to touch his child. 

He was on the ladder, carefully lining the paint against the eavestrough, when a feminine voice caught his attention. 

"Aren't you a handsome little creature?"

He twisted in his position to find Obi-Wan looking up at a woman dressed in sturdy pants and a light shirt. A toddler was at her ankles and a baby was in her arm. She wisely hadn't come close enough to the fence to touch Obi-Wan, but was clearly addressing him. Obi-Wan, for his part, was watching the silver pendant on her necklace reflect the bright sunlight. 

"Oh, hello." She waved once she realized she had his attention. "You must be his father."

He dropped down from the ladder, brushing his hands off on his robe. "Indeed I am. Pleasure to meet you, . . . ?"

She grinned and stuck out a hand. "Phrygia."

"Ari-Ben."

"I gotta admit, I never expected Jaster of all people to bring someone from abroad home."

"You know Jaster?"

"Oh yeah. We were in the Journeyman Protectors before he became the Mand'alor. Probably half the reason he still lives down here instead of in Upper Keldabe. Just pisses Vizsla off to no end."

"So I've been told."

"Anyway, I've seen you in the market a couple of times, but I didn't know you lived here until now. Welcome to the neighbourhood."

"Thank you. I'm looking forward to living here, so long as Jaster will let me."

"Ah, he's soft like that even if he won't admit it." She reassured. "How old is the little mister?"

"Just over a year." He smiled down at Obi-Wan, who grinned back up at him. 

"No teeth yet?"

"We're humanoid, not human."

"Gotcha. How did you meet Jaster?"

"We met at a bar on Dantooine. A man was propositioning me and he stepped in. Offered to bring me here with him, if I wanted to. Now, I'm here working as his housekeeper."

She snorted. "Sorry to inform you, Ari-Ben, but housekeepers don't paint."

"All of the _beige_ is an affront to my senses." He huffed. "Something had to be done, even at my own expense. He gave me carte blanche to do as I pleased, so that is exactly what I intend to do."

"An artist, then?"

"Something like that." He hedged. "I was raised to be colourful and practical."

"I'm sure." She chuckled. 

"Are both of them yours?" He gestured to the children attached to her. 

"This one is." She ruffled the hair of the girl at her side. "This bean on my arm belongs to my brother. He found her on assignment, abandoned, but she's too small to bring with him or leave alone. Since I'm already grounded, I take care of her."

"He found her?"

"Yup. Literally in a ditch, if he's to be believed. No signs of wreckage, no bodies, just a mewling little thing soaked in mud. I can't imagine how many baths he had to sit in with her to cure the hypothermia."

He considered how easily Obi-Wan got cold, and he shuddered at the image that came to mind. "Poor thing."

"It's shitty." She agreed. "And then people wonder why we're so defensive of orphans."

"I don't wonder at all. It's a very noble thing of him to keep her for his own, though."

"It is the Way." She replied, readjusting the girl on her hip. "Children are the cornerstone of life. It doesn't matter where they come from, they deserve to be loved and protected. So, if no one else will do it, we take them as our own, or keep them until we can return them to their own."

"A noble pursuit." 

She shrugged. "How much work do you plan to do on this place?"

"I intend to paint both the inside and the outside, with painted vines creeping along the borders of the exterior. Once I'm done with that, I was hoping to purchase some native plants, slate slabs and fine ground white stone."

She cocked her head at him. "Why?"

"A garden in the backyard."

"At the expense of sounding stupid, what for?"

"To be enjoyed. That's a home's main purpose - at least, in my eyes."

"You're weird." She laughed. "You better be careful about who you tell - your backyard might wind up being the new hotspot."

He hummed. "That wouldn't be so bad. I could use some friends."

"Consider yourself up one." She winked. "You gonna be doing this for the next couple of days?"

"At least." He huffed. "Solon wasn't kidding about the paint being very thick."

"Yeah, the good stuff is. What do you say to me coming back tomorrow? I'll bring a friend or two with kids and we can hang out and watch them while you work." She noticed his hesitation. "We'll stay here on your lot, don't worry. Our houses don't have a yard, so we'll probably chill out here while the kids play. Does that sound okay?"

"That sounds lovely, honestly." He glanced off to the side, thinking of the woeful lack of food in the house. "I'll have to shop, then."

She waved him off. "We'll bring food, don't you worry. Consider it a housewarming gift. Won't do to let you and the kid starve while you're doing all the work Jaster's always refused to."

"Oh?"

"Jaster would live in his ship if his grandfather hadn't have left the house to him. Very much in the vein of 'I just need four walls and a door'. He keeps up on the maintenance of the place, but other than that, he really just can't be bothered."

"I suppose that's why he doesn't care what I do with it, huh."

"Probably." The boy at her knees pulled on her sleeve. "Sorry to cut and run like this, but Ideis is getting hungry. I imagine Keia is too."

"By all means." He smiled at her. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, and meeting your friends."

"You might regret that. We're all Journeymen." She winked. "We'll see you tomorrow. Expect us around noon."

"I'll be ready." He nodded. The two Stewjoni watched Phrygia walk away, Ideis trailing faithfully next to her. Ari-Ben picked Obi-Wan up, meeting his son's gaze before speaking. "Already making friends, aren't you? Seems Jaster wasn't joking about the communality of childrearing after all."

| | | 

A little after noon, Ari-Ben was greeted at his fence by Phrygia, another woman and a man, each with two children, though all of varying ages. 

"Ari-Ben!" Phrygia greeted warmly, as though she'd known him all his life. "I'd like you to meet my two best friends, Lycia and Xanthus. 

"You're Ari-Ben?" Xanthus leaned over the fence, eyeing him. 

"I am." He replied, suppressing the automatic defensiveness. 

"You're prettier than Menander said." He commented. 

"You know Menander?"

"He's married to my brother, Cassius."

That eased his nerves. "Ah, I see."

"Don't worry, he had nothing but praise for you."

Lycia elbowed Xanthus. "I'm Lycia, by the way. I've got to get in that it's nice to meet you before Xanthus and Phrygia steal all the air."

He laughed. "A pleasure to meet you all. I managed to find some suitable outdoor chairs in the basement and get them cleaned up, but I'm afraid they're not in the best condition."

Phrygia waved him off. "Jaster never takes care of things other than his ship. Besides, I'm certain I've sat on more uncomfortable things than any chair you have around."

"Isn't that the truth." Lycia chuckled. "Remember that night on Tethelei?"

"I purposefully don't." Xanthus groaned. "I hated that planet. Too hot during the day, too cold at night and all blistered rock as far as the eye could see - not to mention all the holes you could fall into."

"Yeah, those gopher things were right bastards." Phrygia agreed, reaching over to unlatch the gate. The three Mandalorians filed in, the little ones amongst their legs or holding onto their skirts and capes. 

"I placed the chairs over there, with what blankets I had that were decent." Ari-Ben directed, bringing them into a corner of the yard that saw shade from a large tree most of the day. "I figured the shade would be best."

"This is good." Lycia assured. "I brought some outdoor blankets for the kids to lay on anyway. We'll probably wind up on the ground with them, to be completely honest."

He nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. I've not had the chance yet to make the blankets I want to."

"You make blankets?"

"I weave, mostly. Sometimes I knit with a loom, but I don't have one right now."

"That's awesome. I don't think I know anyone else who can make their own clothing."

"It's a common skill on my planet - part of our culture. I'm also fairly decent at embroidery."

"Don't go advertising that too much - the civilians will be knocking down your door in no time." Lycia joked. "With so many warriors, a lot of our fashion options are slim."

"I'm sure once I'm settled and the house is to my liking, I'll be looking for things to do." He shrugged. "I'll have to keep that option in mind."

Lycia laughed. "Your funeral, my friend."

"Oh, is this the little beast?"

They turned to find Xanthus knelt down in front of one of the set up chairs, where Obi-Wan was seated. The babe looked at him curiously, reaching out to stroke the man's large nose. He giggled and pulled his hand back, nibbling at the side of his index finger. 

"It is indeed." He walked over and stroked through the babe's hair. Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat, looking up at his carrier and breaking into a gummy smile. "His name is Obi-Wan."

"Suits him." Xanthus reached out and gently stroked his soft cheeks. "He looks a lot like you."

"He does, though I'm told my family's genes are quite strong. I more a strong resemblance to my carrier too."

"How old?"

"Just over a year."

"He's still pretty small."

"My species has a late, but rapid maturity. Once he's three or so, he'll get a growth spurt, then another at six, ten and fifteen."

"You're not human?" Lycia cocked her head. 

"Just humanoid." He smiled politely, trying to gauge them out. Jaster had mentioned there was a bounty on a Kenobi. 

"You don't have any allergies, do you? I didn't even think to ask before I made the food."

"Oh, we're perfectly able to eat human food. We have some human ancestors."

"Oh good." Lycia breathed, relieved. "I would have felt terrible if I'd have made you sick."

"It's very sweet of you to be scared for us, but we're okay." He laughed, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I would have let Phrygia know yesterday if there was something dangerous to us, but common amongst humans."

"That makes me feel better."

"Got any special instructions for Obi-Wan?" Xanthus asked. 

"No, I don't think so." He looked down at his baby. "I'll admit I haven't been around many children other than my own for a long period of time, so he may act strangely. Generally, he's very friendly and playful, if a tad reserved. He can walk and is toilet trained, but mostly non-verbal. He reacts very strongly to emotional cues. I don't imagine that he'll be much trouble for you - he's very intelligent and responds to verbal and visual commands, as well as his name. He also seems to understand conversations going on around him, but I may be projecting."

"He does sound quite smart." Phrygia agreed. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine. Our kids all know each other and are used to having to play nice."

"If you want to change and get to work, you're more than welcome to. We'll take good care of him, and I'll call you when it's time for dinner. Do you mind if I use the stove to reheat some of the food?"

"No no, feel free. I've left the doors unlocked, front and back. The kitchen is to the left of the front door and the bathroom is behind it, down the hall."

"Sounds good." Xanthus picked Obi-Wan up as Phrygia rifled through Lycia's basket and pulled out a large green blanket made of soft, but durable material, likely a cotton/polyester blend. 

"Go get your work done." Lycia patted his shoulder. "We'll take it from here."

| | | 

It felt like no time at all had passed when Lycia came and got him for dinner, but he had managed to finish the rest of the base coat for the house and map out the design he wanted overtop of it in chalk Avire had recommended for the job. He was sweaty, his hair had started to come undone and his clothing was beyond hope of recovery, but he'd managed more than he'd anticipated without having to worry about Obi-Wan. 

As it was, Obi-Wan got along just fine with the other children. Indeed, the more introverted children gravitated to him and were content to play with his clothes, hair and teach him how to use colouring books and play with wooden shapes to make designs. Obi-Wan, according to Xanthus, had not left the shapes until Ari-Ben had appeared for dinner once he was introduced to them. He had made an elaborate geometric design that spanned a good portion of the blanket, and he'd let the other children add to it with him. 

Dinner itself was a lively affair, and Lycia was right to get her words in before Xanthus and Phrygia got going - there was barely air left between them to breathe. Ari-Ben found the experience invigorating - it was so casual and friendly, all the jibes and jokes good-natured and humourous, not an ounce of weight to be found. It was a serious and marked difference from the way he'd grown up, groomed as the Crown Prince to be perfect and poised at all times. Dinners and galas were minefields on the best of days, where one wrong word would obliterate one's reputation and he was always on display and under scrutiny. Merely because he excelled in it didn't mean he enjoyed it, and he relished the human element he had with him now - no chains, no reputations, no impossible standards. Just four parents having an evening with their children. 

"I've really enjoyed this." He told them, the kids tired out from their exciting afternoon and filling meal. "I'm so glad you came."

"Is that your way of saying you want to host us tomorrow?" Phrygia poked him in the side.

"I would love to, in all honesty. I was an only child with no cousins to speak of - this has been so incredibly lovely."

"No friends either?" Xanthus asked. "Your parents didn't bring you around to play with other children?'

"They were much more concerned with preparing me for adulthood." He hedged. "I didn't play much growing up, and never with children my own age. It was always tutors around me."

"That's no way to raise a child." Phrygia spat, abruptly looking every inch the Journeyman warrior she really was. "Children are _children_ , not just premature adults. They're people, with dreams, feelings, wants, desires, needs, curiosity. They're meant to explore and learn and enjoy themselves and others; their only duty should be to revel in just being alive. All that other bullshit can come later. Ka'ra knows there's enough shit to go around."

"It wasn't like that for every child." He felt compelled to defend his people. He'd spent many hours he should have been studying watching them run and laugh, being loud and vibrant just outside his reach. "I was just in a different position from them."

Phrygia snorted derisively. "If your parents were politicians, they should have kept you out of their business. You were a child, not a showpiece."

He had nothing to say to that which wouldn't be highly revealing, so he said nothing. Xanthus laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

"It won't give you your childhood back, but Obi-Wan won't have to suffer that." Xanthus said. 

"That was why I left." He blurted, mouth and heart working before his mind. 

"What do you mean?" Lycia sat forward, staring at him intently. 

"My parents-" He cleared his throat. "Obi-Wan was accidental, the result of an indiscretion on my part. When I refused to give him up, my parents made arrangements behind my back to give him away. When I found out, I packed my essentials and ran. That was how I met Jaster - on the run."

All three Mandalorians fell silent, and he couldn't meet their eyes. He had never once felt shame for Obi-Wan, nor for running, but he couldn't stop the feeling of guilt for being the son of such parents, of knowing that he was part of a family that would stoop to such measures all for the sake of _reputation_. 

"Where are you from?" Lycia asked. Her voice was cool and calm, markedly different from the rage Phrygia was radiating and the disgust seeping out of every one of Xanthus' pores. But he couldn't answer that question, couldn't give himself or his baby away. He kept his gaze fixed pointedly on his baby, who had turned to look at him as if he could sense his carrier's turmoil. "You don't have t protect them."

"It's not them I'm protecting." He breathed.

None of them replied to him, having some kind of non-verbal conversation with their eyes. 

"Regardless," Lycia broke back in, "if you want, we can come back tomorrow. It's no hardship on our part."

"I'd appreciate that."

Xanthus clapped him on the back again, offering a winning smile. "Good. It'll be nice to have another man floating around in the group. Gets a little lonely here sometimes."

"I'm sure it does." He smiled back. "I'll have to get up early to go shopping-"

"Nonsense." Lycia waved him off. "I'll bring food again tomorrow. You have a whole house to worry about, and I enjoy cooking."

"If you insist, I won't say no to a helping hand." 

"Good, I wasn't gong to give you a choice." She raised her chin with a smirk. 

If this was only the start of his life on Mandalore, Ari-Ben had chosen wisely indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation note:  
> Phrygia - [FRIE-GEE-ah]  
> Keia - [KAY-EE-yah]  
> Ideis - [Ih-deh-ee-s]  
> Xanthus - [ZZ-an-thus]  
> Lycia - [LISH-ee-yah]


	4. My Home

"Phrygia, this is a surprise."

"It shouldn't be, you old bastard." She smirked, accepting his hug. "It's been some time since I've seen you, and you didn't stick around long enough the last time you were here to introduce to me to your new piece."

"New piece?"

"Yeah, I had to go and meet him myself." She rolled her eyes and playfully punched him in the shoulder. 

"He's not- We're not romantic partners."

She blinked. "You're- But he's living in your house with his son?"

"He's skittish, and scared."

"Yeah, he mentioned he ran away from home, but didn't elaborate much."

"Yes, well, I'm not in the business of coercing my sexual partners. Between the circumstances I met him in and the turmoil in his personal life, there's no chance I'm going to push him. If he wants me, he'll come to me."

"Hmm, he is pretty strong-willed. Still, though, you should have introduced us. I'm pretty sure the only reason he even spoke to me was because I met him when I had Keia and Ideis with me."

"Probably. He's very cautious, and not without good reason."

Phrygia's comm beeped and started blinking. "Ah, that's probably Gordion."

"I'm planetside for longer this time, we can meet up again later." He promised. 

"Good. I don't want you to become a stranger." She winked at him. "By the way, I think you'll enjoy what he did with the house."

| | | 

He'd dismissed Mark, Arian, Raylor and Menander once they were back in their home district, taking a direct route back to his house. He'd done it thousands of times - this house had been the one his grandfather had owned, after all, and when his father had perished and his mother was involved in a ship explosion, this had been the only place left to turn. HIs grandfather, too, had been a very kindly old man, body broken by decades of hard fighting, with nothing left to him but a lone grandchild and his dead husband's childhood home. It had been this man, Atys Mereel, who had trained him and seen him into adulthood, who had left him a little house in a run-down part of the capital. The lingering feeling of Atys was the only reason that he'd not gotten rid of the house when it became a burden to maintain - even musty and unloved, the house carried phantom sensations from his past that he didn't want to forget. 

Not that he had given Ari-Ben permission to change things just to appease the man - the house as he had kept it didn't resemble the humble, if well-loved, home that Atys had maintained. There were none of the pictures on the walls that had once been, and the small herb and root vegetable garden that Atys had diligently attended every day had been left to die. Atys would have been horrified to see the house in such disrepair, if he took a moment to be honest with himself, and he was under no illusions that Ari-Ben could provide a vibrancy that he himself was not capable of. 

Only decades of habit brought him to the right house, and even then he had to check the houses around him to make sure, otherwise he would have thought this to be another property entirely. 

The houses of this sector were designed to be plain and functional, and his was no exception. However, where the walls had once been a sun-bleached sandy beige in colour, they were now a shining metallic sapphire, deep and robust in shade, with an elaborate geometric pattern in silver wrapping around the tops and bottoms of the walls, as well as around the trims of the windows and doors. In the middle of the walls stretched painted vines in lively greens, twining together to fill the void space between the geometric silver banners but not touching them. They weren't large vines, and it was clear that even though the style bore more resemblance to watercolour than realism, it had taken days of painstaking work to do. The little fence around the property had also been repaired and painted a sleek matte grey to match the trim of the windows and the door. Against the wall of the house there were also new gardens with hardy succulents planted in them, fine white marble gravel covering the exposed dirt. The walkway up to the front door, once bare dirt, was also covered over in the same gravel. 

He opened the gate and entered, boots crunching on the new gravel, and walked up to the front door, opening it gently. Inside, too, was a miasma of colour and life. 

Upon entering the house, immediately to the left was the entrance to the living room, and to the right was the kitchen. A hallway bisected the house, leading directly to the back door, with two doors on the left and three on the right. The two on the left were bedrooms, roughly equal in size, with closets built into the dividing wall. The first door on the right lead into a pantry, meant for dry goods, with a trap door that lead down into a fruit cellar that could double as a bomb shelter. The second door was the bathroom, which had the standard toilet, sink, standing shower and sunken tub. The last door on the right was a maintenance closet, with machines for washing and drying clothes, shelving and cupboards for cleaning supplies, and the main controls for the water and electricity supplies. 

The kitchen had been painted a soft teal, the cupboards all sanded down and re-varnished, proudly displaying the pale flesh of the ash wood they were made from. Appliances that had been, if not dirty, then not well cared for, had been scrubbed down and polished back to a shine. The floor, too, had been stripped of the laminate flooring Atys' husband had lain down to reveal sandstone tiles that went well with the cupboards. New molding had been installed along the top of the walls and butting up against the cupboards, the same clean white as the ceiling. Along the walls were wrought iron shelves with elaborate, curled brackets that held up interesting-looking bottles and fake fruit. There was also a matching wrought iron baker's rack against the empty wall, with potted vines at the top of it that grew down and curled into the spirals of the iron. Glass jars of raw ingredients sat on some of the upper shelves as well, and on the wooden bread rack, sat actual fresh bread and a pound cake, half eaten. 

The living room had been completely transformed. Ari-Ben's loom still sat in the far corner close to the bay window where he'd placed it, but everything else was different. The walls were now a soft apricot, new clean white molding and baseboards along the ceiling and floor. The colour brought out the red hue in the hardwood flooring's stain - the same flooring that spread through the rest of the house - giving the room a warm and serene feeling. Along the walls and draped over the re-arranged furniture, there were intricately woven blankets - _tapestries_ , his mind supplied, staring in astonished awe at the scenes depicted on the wall hangings. There were many different scenes - indistinct humanoids playing with their children in an open green field, wolves howling at the moon, a sleeping mythosaur, and even more besides. The blankets draped over the old furniture were auburn, and all matched. New pillows sat on either end of the couch and love seat, and an extra blanket was folded and draped over the back of the arm chair. 

The hallway had been painted a clean light sage, pale enough not to make the enclosed space oppressive, but enough to keep it colourful. It, too, had seen the installation of molding and baseboards. 

The pantry had been thoroughly cleaned and brightened, the walls a daisy yellow with more of the same wrought iron shelving replacing the particle board which had been there before. Various dry goods were stacked and sorted, most of them in sealed glass jars, but there were also preserves, spices, soup stock and some root vegetables in a basket. Over the trap door was a woven mat with a sleeping dog on it. 

The first bedroom belonged to Ari-Ben and Obi-Wan, and had been painted a sweet orchid purple. There wasn't much furniture to speak of, save the bed, an unassuming vanity and a large cradle of warmly stained wood. Inside the cradle were all of Obi-Wan's old linens, as well as a few newly woven additions made of fleece that were a coppery orange. Ari-Ben's bed also had new linens on it, all a matching deep berry colour with pale cyan outlines of flowers on it. Along the foot of the bed, several other blankets were folded, all different colours and thicknesses. 

The bathroom hadn't been much changed - the amenities were a stark, clean durasteel, and the tiles were grey marbled with white. The walls had been painted a rich turquoise, giving it a strange aquatic feeling, like standing on the edge of an ocean liner and looking out over the sea. 

The maintenance closet had been tidied and painted a steely pale purple, with the cupboards repainted a clean white, but otherwise left more or less alone. 

Like Ari-Ben's room, his own had little furniture. His bed, a desk with a mirror hung over it and his freestanding armour and weapon stands. They were exactly where he had left them, and the objects still in their places. The differences were in the walls and his linens. The walls themselves were now garnet in colour, rich and warm but dark. His bedding was white, contrarily, but had embroidered designs in amber, the sigil of the Journeyman Protector outlined dead center. 

All of the windows of the house were open, their white, gauzy curtains fluttering on the breeze. Through the back door, he could see Obi-Wan was using wooden blocks to build some elaborate design, and Ari-Ben was lying on his side, a hand propping up his head, as he flipped through the pages of a book. They were laying on a green blanket, their scene of domestic serenity hemmed in by gardens full of flowers and flowering bushes. The gardens were separated from the groundcover by a ring of white marble gravel with sprinklings of sea glass spread throughout it, coming right up to the back door. In the back of the garden was a little self-feeding fountain, sitting atop a little dais of sea glass in a square porcelain dish nestled into the gravel. 

He opened the back door, stepping out into the back door, and both Stewjoni looked up at him. Obi-Wan broke into a blinding grin and released a peal of high-pitched, joyous laughter, lifting up his little arms towards him. Ari-Ben, too, smiled broadly and sat up, book abandoned. He walked over to them, picking Obi-Wan up and unintentionally melting when the babe pressed a kiss to his visor and did his best to wrap his little arms around his neck. 

"Jaster." Ari-Ben breathed through his smile, some loose hair curling around the edges of his face. "Welcome home."

Balancing Obi-Wan, he sat down on the blanket with them. The soft look on Ari-Ben's face made him ache, deep in his chest - what he would give for this life, to have a partner and a child to call his own, to love and nurture. What more than that he would give to have _this_ man and child be his, to love him fervently in return. 

"I know you gave me free reign to do as I pleased, but I hope I didn't take it too far." 

"It's beautiful." He answered, because it was. "My grandfather would be falling over himself if he could see how dazzling you have made this place."

Ari-Ben flushed, looking away bashfully. "I'm glad you appreciate my efforts. I only finished it a few days ago."

"Did you do it alone?"

"No, not necessarily. I made friends with some Mandalorians with children of their own - Phrygia, Lycia and Xanthus. They said they know you."

"I do know them all. We served together before I became Mand'alor."

"They were over almost every day that I was painting, and Lycia helped me with the baseboards and molding. Without them, I certainly wouldn't have been done so quickly."

He set Obi-Wan back down to play with his blocks, which he returned to with gusto. He couldn't help the breathless chuckle that left him, his mind and heart completely overwhelmed. "You're incredible."

"Certainly not. Anyone could do the work I've done." Ari-Ben flushed darker, averting his eyes and playing with the hem of his red dress. 

"I couldn't have. I know for a fact Phrygia could not."

Ari-Ben chuckled, coyly glancing at him. "I'll have to concede that one. She informed me quite loudly now insane she thought I was when she realized I intended to paint vines onto the house."

Without his permission, his hand reached out and tucked some of the stray hair behind Ari-Ben's ear. "You're stunning."

"No need to flatter me. You're paying me, remember." Ari-Ben was nearly as red as his dress, but didn't pull away. 

"Not for this. Not for making my house a home. There is no price I can put on that."

Ari-Ben cupped the hand still pressed against his face. "It's no hardship for me. I can't put a price on the chance you've given me to have a home."

He had to forcibly restrain himself from leaning forward, from pushing Ari-Ben back down onto the blanket with his hair splayed over the groundcover, flushed and breathtaking and _under him_. Ka'ra above, what a vision that would be-

Obi-Wan held up a block to him, making a gentle cooing noise. Ari-Ben cleared his throat and pulled back, running his hands over the skirt of his dress and smoothing the fabric. "It looks like he wants to play with you."

He sat back, adjusting his legs to the bagginess of his flight suit trousers and the codpiece would help conceal his inappropriate reaction. He took the little block, glancing down at the design Obi-Wan had been in the midst of making. He laid the block down in a gap, slotting it in, and Obi-Wan clapped, laughing brightly and handing him another block. Ari-Ben chuckled warmly, an impossibly fond look coming over his face. 

"You're as artistic as your father." He said, adjusting again to lay down next to the baby, almost curling around the sitting infant. "Want to make this design together, huh?"

Obi-Wan handed him another block in response. He studied the design, adding the two blocks to opposite ends. Obi-Wan clapped and cooed, putting some of his own blocks down before handing him more to add too. 

"My boys." Ari-Ben hummed, pushing to his feet. "I'm going to make dinner, okay? Do you think you can watch him for a while?"

"I'd be honoured to."

Ari-Ben shook his head fondly, then turned and entered the house, his dress trailing behind him like liquid ruby. He wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan, and the baby curled up into the contact with a contented coo, reaching down to grab hold of his index finger. 

"You're so lucky to have such a wonderful father." He told the baby, who placed more blocks. "And he's lucky to have such a beautiful son. Perhaps one day, should I be so lucky, I can have this too. Or something like this."

Obi-Wan turned to face him, his big blue eyes far too understanding and soulful for being just over a year old. The baby cupped either side of the helmet, wobbling for a moment as he twisted to face him more fully, then leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. "Bui."

His heart jumped into his throat and his voice was weak. "What?"

"Bui."

"You mean _buir_?"

Obi-Wan nodded, staring into the dark T of the visor. "Bui."

He bit back the tears welling up in his eyes. " _Vor entye, ad_." 

Obi-Wan pressed another kiss to his visor, then picked up a block, holding it out to him. 

"Right, of course." He took the block and cleared his throat. "Shouldn't get distracted, hmm?"

| | | 

That night, after Obi-Wan had been put to bed, Jaster was settled on the couch with one of the old foundational texts open on his lap. Ari-Ben entered the room dressed down into a petal-pink shift, just opaque enough to hide his form but light enough to float as he walked. 

"I never considered-" He paused at the doorway. "Do you mind that I'm not fully dressed? I never thought to ask if you would be comfortable with me like this."

"By all means. It's your home as well."

"Thank you." Ari-Ben smiled softly, floating over to his loom and sitting down at it. He picked up yarn, shoulders falling back and falling into the easy rhythm of weaving, fingers and arms moving like he was playing the harp rather than weaving cloth. His fingers played so deftly over the strings, and he pulled the yarn with a practised ease. It was hypnotic to witness, like something coming from nothing, and he was reminded of watching the Armourer pour out the beskar alloy into the mould that become his chestplate. He'd been young then, so green that - aside form his helmet - all the rest of his armour plates were durasteel. Ari-Ben didn't look like he'd ever been young and green - he swayed with the rhythm of his weaving, murmuring a song in his native tongue, like some ancient god descended from the heavens specifically for him. 

Old texts he'd gone through when he became Mand'alor spoke of the ancient foundation myths, about the Ka'ra, Manda and the god of war. He read through many myths of the lesser, more forgotten gods, and he was struck by Ari-Ben's resemblance to the goddess of the hearth therein mentioned; a warm, kindly goddess keeping the flame that bound a pair, a family, a clan together alight and strong, always there to guide them home. She was the guide of the living and the dead - her hearth was the one the fallen would wander towards, and she kindled the flame that the Ka'ra carried to become stars. But she, too, was a warrior, and never failed in the defense of her home. After all, when had anyone ever seen a star go out?

Perhaps that is who Ari-Ben was - Tracinya made flesh. He certainly looked the part, with his flaming hair, lean body, sharp spear and gentle hands. He had returned warmth to a house that had been cold and dark for too many years, had brought life into the world and had stirred a heat in Jaster that he had not felt . . . ever. Would he be burned if he strayed too close, or could be follow in Akaan's path and hold this force of nature close? Would Ari-Ben even welcome him the way the myths recounted Tracinya opening her arms for Akaan? 

A braver - or, perhaps, more foolish - man than he would have to find out. He'd made a promise, implicit in his promise of safety and choice, not to pursue Ari-Ben. He wouldn't corner the other man, wouldn't scare him or make him feel obligated to do anything, least of all anything romantic or sexual. Ari-Ben owed him nothing, and so nothing is what he would expect. Ari-Ben was headstrong enough - if there was something he wanted from Jaster, he was more than welcome to take it.

* * *

For the next three months, Jaster remained grounded on the planet. Apparently, there was actually quite a bit of paperwork to be done and assignments to be dealt out that Jaster had been putting off too long, galivanting about space as he was and rescuing hapless Stewjoni princes. 

Ari-Ben couldn't say that he minded. Jaster's presence was a cool, soothing balm to the rush of life, and he was as steady, calm and dependable as ever. As he sat at his loom in the evenings, he would watch from the corner of his eye as Jaster read through reports and signed off on bounty payments, taking care of all the matters he was required to as a head of state (as loose of a term as that was among the Mandalorians). 

The steady company of another adult wasn't limited to the evening hours, however. Jaster was present during the day as well, a steady parade of captains and generals trickling in and out of his house. They often sat in the living room, and as Ari-Ben went about his daily chores, Jaster kept Obi-Wan nestled safely on his lap. Each of the Mandalorians that came by, regardless of whether they had been there before, always took the time to greet the babe, playing with his growing hair or running their thumbs over his chubby cheeks. Jaster seemed to hold onto Obi-Wan as much as he could, as though caring for the infant was second-nature to him and expected. Even when he wasn't busy with the affairs of state, Jaster was to be found in the backyard with the baby, playing with Obi-Wan't favourite blocks, or reading books to him, or colouring in the books that Xanthus had given. 

Ari-Ben often found himself leaning against the backdoor, unable to erase the smile on his face or escape the warmth blossoming in his chest. He'd never once asked Jaster to take on such an involved role, and had initially gone to great lengths to remove Obi-Wan when Jaster was having important meetings. Jaster had taken up this post entirely of his own volition, seeming entirely confused as to why Ari-Ben would think the baby wasn't welcome at his side. It felt different, somehow, than all the collective care Lycia, Xanthus, Phrygia and her husband Gordion had shown in their little gatherings - it even felt different than letting Menander cater to Obi-Wan on the ship. No, this was something deeper, something more than assistance and something deeper than indulgence. Jaster treated Obi-Wan like his own flesh and blood, took the same care of him that Ari-Ben himself did, and all without an inkling of obligation. 

Deep in the night, once the light from under Jaster's door went dark and Obi-Wan was fast asleep, Ari-Ben found the ache deep in his pelvis hard to ignore. Oh, how he _wanted_ , yearning to pull off that helmet and kiss that wonderful man senseless, to push him down onto that couch deep in the night and slide on top of him. He'd let someone far less worthy into his body once, and if he caught with Jaster's child, dress pulled up and Jaster buried deep enough inside him to appease that ache-

He would always come down from those thoughts with the aftershocks and shivering of an intense orgasm, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, come splashed across his stomach and his thighs drenched. The ache would return, always deeper than before, and he would have to restrain himself from exiting his room, slipping down the hall and into Jaster's room. Being so close was the most exquisite torture, and he almost felt shame for masturbating to a man who was doing him a favour. But then, Stewjoni were intensely sexual creatures, and Jaster was impossibly respectful. If he didn't want this heat building inside him to consume him, and he wanted to make something of the tension taut as a bowstring between them, the onus was on him to make it happen. 

And he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir - Parent (in this case, specifically "father")  
> Vor entye, ad - Thank you, my son.  
> Tracinya - Flame  
> Akaan - War
> 
> (Full disclosure for those of you who comb lore - I totally made up the story around the gods mentioned here.


End file.
